My little child, shy of a year then, by the stroke of Divine Providence
Drew near death's play pen with nagging arteries and inflamed veins.
How the tears streamed across cheeks of us her vessels of deliverance
As we cradled in our arms eyes bloodied and lips full cherries.
As she lay as a leaf those 2 weeks I heard the cries of a ram's shrieks
Caught in the underbrush; an angel speaks staying Abraham's cold hand for the pierce.
My little child, shy of a year then, by the stroke of Divine Providence,
Was given the angel rainbow for hands. For Abraham's God she will pictures paint.
No comments:
Post a Comment