Monday, May 07, 2012


Tiny and wee
And black as can be,
With a bit of white
That showed in the night.

Born number three,
It was wait and see.
Something not right,
Yet she summoned her might.

I couldn't foresee
What she'd mean to me,
That little sprite.
I stayed hopeful and bright.

It was not to be.
She had to be free
From fetters so light.
So she reached a new height.

Now back to three,
Brothers, sisters and me.
I will think of this night
And hold her memory tight.

Third of Four
May 3, 2012-May 6, 2012