Image: Pixabay.com

Just a bud, the sleepy child…
Fine dark hair contrasting against
The snow…no one could see her curled
Against the birch trunk, among trees
Lined like guardians keeping watch.

Chimes had been ringing for days
Bell rope cinched between
Chapped, worried hands:
Where could she be?

Townsfolk prayed for a sign
And busy whispers went on
Did someone take her?
Was she murdered?

The trees knew…she had run
Away to them, small as she was
Seeking protection, freedom…
They bent their branches, created
Canopy, covering her chilled form.

Wind blew, pushing furious icy storm
Forth, turning her tears to pearls
And diamonds as she slept…
Soon it was a blizzard.

Only angels could be discerned
Amid the whooshing white, their
Feathered wings beating rhythmically…

They had come for the child
Who’d been tossed aside like trash, and
Lifting her, lifeless, they returned Home.

©j.a.case & Keyhole Poetry, 2018 ~ All rights reserved.

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