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.