The Rosebud
On your journey to heaven,
oh, littlest of angels,
I’ll forever give thanks,
you came first to my arms,
where you lay in warm sweetness
for the briefest of moments,
my name on your bracelet -
baby girl or my own.
Not even the rosebud,
nor the first crocus petal,
Could match the soft wonder
of your small, flowering face -
though you lingered, so briefly,
our torn hearts found comfort,
and your fair, infant presence
gave our sorrow a grace.

Etched in our memories,
to hold and to treasure,
are experiences we had not known;
these you gave, in your innocence,
to your mother and father;
and oh, little darling,
we are richer by far,
to have held you a moment,
then to never to have held you at all.