Little Bird

Today you would have turned 8.

I listen to Jim Croce:
"Photographs and memories,
All that I have are these,
To remember you."
"Photographs and memories,
All the love you gave to me,
Somehow it can't be true,
That's all I've left of you."

I wonder if she thinks about you?
A fragile bundle,
Cast aside.
Left alone.
Unwanted.
A tiny bird with clipped wings.

But I saw you.
I heard you.
I loved you.

You became mine.
I became yours.
Forever mine!
Forever yours!

You were too fragile for this world,
Too tiny.
Too malnourished.

My baby. My bird.

If I believed it,
I could say that now you soar,
Fly high.
Mended wings of love.

But you are simply gone.