Little Paradise

Little Paradise

Soft clouds, each a puffy pillow,
Glide gently, silent and mellow.
Sweet melodies flow from heaven, so calm,
Delightful, gentle music, it’s strains hold charm,
Assuring freedom from sorrow.

The angel plays on a harp , golden yellow,
His arms soft, eyes sharp, attentive fellow.
He watches his charge, like a school marm,
His whispers are a soothing balm,
Dissuading anyone from causing his charge sorrow.

This innocent little minnow,
Is not afraid of tomorrow.
He is safe in the Angel’s arm,
Unlike the  other world, where he came to harm,
Here the innocent one is free from sorrow.

I wish to have a magical window,
Or a key to the secret door,
To visit innocents whose giggles can disarm,
Unwanted children of parents not warm,
To the idea of a baby, borne out of sorrow.


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Natasha Sequeira
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