Remembering the smell 

of wood and leather,

crisp paper and a fire.

The smell of solid and old.

Crying tears of great relief there. 

Knowing they understood.

Them looking down on the little girl.

Looking out to ask God: “Why?”

Why, God, did You make him so?

She is so full of love and joy.

She fairly dances down the street.

Her heart is tiny and dear.

How can she bear the pain she will see and feel?

How can her mother, our Darling, carry on with that child?

Why, God, did You make him so?

He ached too deep.

He demanded too much.

No comfort could he take.

No gentle word or touch 

would get in to soothe 

his inner fire and misery.

Did he imagine that pain?

Did he just make it up to get attention?

Was he truly hateful?

Did he reflect and feel regret?

What created such crucible fears?

How, God, could You make him so?

9.14.20