Cradle the small child,
there are no tears left in this man as he cradles that child,
the casket of a child.
No fresh flowers left anymore in that blue vase,
there is no home left that held that vase.
With only a cat in his arms,
and his father in the hospital,
There is no life left in the eyes of this man.
Eyes that used to burn so bright,
and could give warmth to anyone who looked.
Sway gently, the casket of a child,
no close relatives to surround with safety.
All he could hear were machines whispering,
getting closer and closer to his face.
But there are no flying machines around.
And silently, I said goodbye,
while he still remained alive.
Small wings of angels started to grow,
on his back. Soon to take flight.
Away from the pain.
