When the Lad Died

Her smile can soothe the woes of loss,
her song’s for those who mourn.
Her pleas can ease the pining souls
to cheer a brighter morn.

And he, poor boy, so pale and cold,
she coiled his mortal strings.
And tucked him in the loving airs
of hymns on pearly wings.

To soar the heights, the evermore,
beyond the human call.
With love’s embrace to keep him safe
for fear the lad might fall.

She skimmed the mists of sacred verse
then folded to alight
with flocks of pearly songstresses
gathering into light.

The frightened boy, she held to breast
and mothered him in grace.
She joined her hands as if to pray
and cupped his smiling face.

Waisted not the boy, his joy
and taught himself to fly.
With songs to sing on pearly wings
as angels do, on high.