Short Row
by Wesley Sims

In the middle
of a country
cemetery,
too easy
to overlook,
only children.
Short row,
short stones,
short lives,
short time
for memories.
Brief, bright
butterflies,
they gifted
us their
unique beauty.
Now flown
up there,
a long, long
time of joy
brightening
the halls
of heaven.



 

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