by Howard Hain
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In near darkness silhouettes take hold.
So delicate. Features so fragile.
How can such a perfect little nose exist in such a world?
A world of flying soccer balls.
My hardened features cringe at the thought.
Her delicate little nose and a direct encounter.
A soccer ball, an elbow, another child’s brow…my God, how could such beauty absorb any such kind of blow?
And yet it has, seven years and counting.
Time and again the playground gives what it’s got.
Close encounters and direct hits, this night that little nose as delicate as ever.
The chaos, the screams, the various forms of laughter…they too for the time being stand silent.
Before such a sight.
A simply beautiful child sleeps.
A father smiles.
Such beauty is surely painful.
Innocence is everything.
My Lord and my God.
Thank You.
A beautiful child sleeps.
A father wipes away a tear.
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The Victor's Place 