You came from the hand of God.
With your name, your Momma
gave you your crown of glory
and dedicated you back to Heaven.
Like her, you were a poet and painter.
And even when you walked the earth,
you saw things not of this world,
held them in your eye, then let them fly away.
You talked to the spirits in the churchyard mist.
Now you drift among them, mourning for us.
We mourn for ourselves,
for the living left behind.
Will you show up this spring in the cardinals?
in dimes on the sidewalk like your Dad
used to send you from Heaven?
Remind us your spirit cannot be buried.
Leave us dimes. Glow in them for us,
wearing your princess crown.
Lothlorien Poetry Journal, May 2023
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