the Master calls a Butterfly.
They shall not grow old, as we that are let grow old.
Age shall not diminish them, nor the years condemn.
At the rising of the sun and at it's going down,
we Remember them.
Oh how sad to say, but tis true!
And it must be a horrific echo
that travels all through you~!
that others can't seem to hear~!
Like the sounds of a sweet whisper...
coming from a baby's ear~! Or the sounds as a child is playing...~!
Yes, we hear their every cry~!
And, oh, what a sound they make...
when they ask, "Why Momma, Why?"
Is what you heard that terrible day,
"..I'm sorry, we did everything we could...
but, your baby has passed away~!"
Joyous sounds a child can make...~!
But, thank GOD, not all mommas hear...
the sound of a heartbreak~!
Copyright @1998
All rights reserved.
It is illegal to take or use a copyright
poem or work without original authors permission.
Dedicated to: Darlene, a mom that lost her baby, PJ, to SIDS
(Sudden Infant Death Syndrome)
~ Keeping our children's memories alive ~
is owned by Penny Callonas.
All matching images and content of this website are © Linda and may not be reproduced without express permission. This web site was created and designed by Beckie/NYAngel4Ever ©2000. These graphics are for the "exclusive" use of My Parents Are Survivors. Thank you!