(1950 / )


The green grass,
Neatly manicured,
I dip my fingers,
Into the holy water font,
Blessed and sprouting agape,

I enter into the lives,
Of those twisted bodies,
Temples of sweet angelic
Called special children;

With eyes that reflect,
The tiniest spark of kindness,
Returning smiles;
I wonder, do they perceive
Us first, as being special?

User Rating: 5 / 5 ( 0 votes )

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.