by rhiannon macgregor
weep no more for bethany, that lovely girl of ours
the tides are from her toes as she dips them in that pond,
so weep no more for bethany, her play-pen is the clouds about this poem: written on 8/24/99 in memory of bethany west, the 2 month old daughter of friends of mine, and in their estimation, heaven's newest angel.
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she sleeps among the cirrus, her playthings now are stars
the moon is the reflection of light from her blue eyes
the sun is now her spirit as it brightens cloudy skies.
the breeze is from her laughter as she remembers something fond.
the rain is from her tears as she watches us with love
and protects us all from heaven, from her bedroom up above
the thunder is her heartbeat as it manifests aloud
she waits upon the day when she’ll be with us once again
and we wait in silent yearning and hopefulness til then.
