Lily May.

Rest in peace baby.

As a bright bulb in the tender earth,

ready to surface, to see the bright sun,

but waiting to be bigger,

to burst into beauty, a lily

waiting, vulnerable to be ready.

Cradled in the warm ground

potential in it's closed petals,

pulled from the earth, premature...

Lord have mercy. 


As a sealed egg

layed, in the hay to rest

perfect in speckles and in shape

incomplete but still complete

in this still un-cracked form

mesmerising with it's possibility 

crushed under farmers foot,

swept along with an accident, lost like a rock.

Christ have mercy. 


As a pebble,

lodged in throats, salt grit

A thump in chests,

that is less deserving

An ache in hands,

reaching out for something,

anything, lost for

a faith to hold onto...oh

Lord have mercy on her. 


On a child, with a mind, with time 

ready to become more and yet,

not a women, but a baby,

on the cusp of blooming in the day light,

ready to reach...

for loves, and fears and tear drenched dreams,

to feel the sun through the leaves 

and climb old, forgotten trees...

Kyrie Christe



The End

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