VINCENT, TWO MONTHS OLD

           So not to wake my china doll,
                I gently kiss his brow,
                his sleeping eyes of handblown glass
                and watercolor mouth.

                A fragile smile, fleeting and rare,
                uplifts my soul, then dies,
                and sorrow fills my heart
                to overflowing as he cries.

                I shed his tears, for he has none
                whose heart is porcelain,
                and wonder if he senses love
                as I perceive his pain.

~Broken Wings~

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