Take Care of Him My Lord

I hold my little new born child who is born in a hospital in a town where tumbleweeds roll mild the Cancer has been staged, its terminal incurable and running wild every hair on his head is counted every toe accounted for I think about all the strength surmounted for this jewel in my pinafore and hear his loud sharp cry, undaunted; rage of angels rap at my chest door as I fade away into his heart beat, the lion comes for his feeding chore; Oh those eyes of finest wheat, how they draw me in aside the shore and move me to a place of Grace. The curtain closes and I weep inside my ventricle, his memorized face I pray to God my soul to keep, then glide away, to another place. September 6, 2021 Sponsor: Emile Pinet Contest Name Quintain (Sicilian)