And yet the beating of your heart was silent
The breath of life from rosebud lips not felt.
Your silken lashes did not flutter,
Unopened eyes never held our gaze.
The grasp of your small fingers still and without strength,
Your arms will never reach for us, feet carry you to your embrace
And we will never hear the music of your voice.
Or know the sweet fragrance of your skin.
When did the tide of death steal you away?
If we could breathe our own life’s breath
Bequeath you minutes, days, years, we would.
But we are not the author or deliverer of life.
We cannot solve the mystery of spirit and of soul
Or remove the shroud of death that holds you still.
Sweet child whose life will only ever life within our dreams.
I speak your name upon the wind and it is carried far away.
But you remain imprinted on our hearts
Poem by: Tricia Richards
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