Visiting a Children’s Memorial Garden
written by: Barbara Harris Leonhard
Tiny gravestones gently placed
on mounds of raised hopes – dashed.
Angels with infant wings kneel atop
these grand little beds
pillowed by soil wet from tears.
Stuffed bears, backpacks, dolls dressed in lace.
Unopened birthday gifts. Holiday treasures.
Tumbled by wind and storm.
Some babes were twins.
Some never breathed.
Some never cried.
Some never laughed.
Some never reveled in a school day
let out by sudden snow.
Some never made it home from school
one disastrous day at all.
Young ones sheltered
in this garden of woe.
Visited by their parents,
coming to pray and mourn
in summer’s rain. In autumn’s
gust of leaves. In winter’s hail
without fail. And amidst
the newly sprung buds in spring –
Who, God, did this? Why!
Why such sorrow in early light?
Dust to dust at such a young age?
What called me here? A wrong turn?
Or the muffled cries
to come and play?
To tell them stories
of a better day?
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