Ten toes, ten fingers, perfect, thin…
precious face—cheeks, brow and chin,
Shuttered eyes that shed no tears,
petite, pink flower-petaled ears
Disturbed by no discordant sound,
lips on which no kiss is found,
Ungrasping hands that will not fold,
untested body—sinless soul!
Inert, unsullied, still, pure heart,
too full of peace for life to start….
Hello sweet child…then brief goodbye….
We’ll wake you when we’re let to die.
A Hill resident, the author believes that the appreciation of art should not be influenced by the vagaries or prejudices of biography.
