Tears on my glasses
Cloud what I’d rather not see -
An e-mail “Am I a Fireman yet?”
Poignantly asked by a dying child,
A poem I wrote to tell of the death
Of another angel - Lily, forever nine,
Then in the headlines, another infant murdered
By the one who’s supposed to love him most,
I suppose it’s a good thing when my
Nose begins to tickle and my eyes to flood,
For I think these angels like to know
That there are hearts on earth still full
Of love for them.