Sweet Spirit

How pretty the petite little buds

like little white fairies shying away

they lie curled, in their little green beds

sleeping an infantile slumber.

My careless fingers hold that severed womb,

in it, three little innocents sleep,

not knowing their life of a day,

i have brought, to a silent end.

My obscenity goes unnoticed,

like a God, I had disposed,

to eternal rest and memory

three little lives in angel white.

Lost to the din and unheard, their weeping,

Yet, smell them in their passing, I did

and smile at their sweet spirit.

Their sweetness, even in death.

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