a vestige of thought...

I wrote this after I heard that the foster child (or maybe he was adopted by then?) of a family that I didn't even know was dying. I had never met the boy or his family, but knew of them through mutual friends. It was several years ago, but I don't remember exactly when.

Little hands, little feet
Should be running and
grasping.
Small mouth, small voice
Should be laughing and
talking
But the life that
should have belonged
to this little boy
Is fading
and f
a
l
l
i
n
g
away
From where it should be
Little hands, little feet
Tiny voice, soft heartbeat
Fading away from the life on this side.
But on the other side
There is Someone
To wipe away
every tear
To take away every
hurt
Where little hands and
little feet
That now rest
cold and white
Under just as pale
sheets
Can laugh and play
And jump and leap
And that little
voice can laugh
And is laughter
can be heard from
the earth.
It rings in the hearts
of those who
love him
And the hearts of
those who don't
know him
But who care anyway.
So Lord,
Heal this little boy
Give him back
his childish laughter
Or take him to a
place where there
is no pain
And let us know
that he is there.

My spacing on this probably won't work and it will end up in a jumble that I did not intend. Oh well.