RoseAnn V. Shawiak
Holding gently to an infant of beauty and remorse, so tenderly
buoyant and loveable, lying innocently upon a mother's breast,
unknowing except for the heart-wrenching sorrow heard whenever
her voice talks gently to her baby.
Protectively wrapping her arms around the tiny little form of
a baby, a miracle of love that will not last long on this earth,
because it is too precious to the Lord.
All the love of a lifetime must be met and stored in the memory
of it's soul right now, as it silently teeters on the edge of
life, ready to be carried away in God's blessed arms.
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Dying Infant by RoseAnn V. Shawiak )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
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