Talks to Angels

Although she wishes it were not true,
bedtime rarely means sleeping

Her pillowcase is often damp
with silent tears, solemn weeping

Whispering to Angels high,
in the quiet light of the moon,
she desperately seeks forgiveness,
morning coming far too soon

But, this morning, when she wakes,
ahh, hope has blossomed and bloomed!

So, tonight, just maybe, sleep will come,
no more penance, soul attuned

~art piece by my oldest daughter

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