Your Father's Arms
O child, not meant to end this way,
Thy perfect limbs, so disarrayed;
So fearful, wondrous made you are,
Then swept away, but not the scar.
My heart does break, my spirit weeps,
A mother's bond should be for keeps.
No longer can the world bring harm,
Rush swiftly to your Father's arms.
Copyright © Jeff Kyser | Year Posted 2022
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