Broken Wings

Here is a poem that my mother wrote.


Naive with dreams of what would be,
I birthed a baby girl. But she
Arrived, a fragile, damaged thing,
A baby bird with broken wing.

Those days were dark, the nights so long,
Little bird cried her joyless song,
While I, with heart despairing, cried
To know my cherished dreams had died.

But then one day I raised my eyes
And found my healing in the skies,
For there, though cloaked in mystery,
I somehow glimpsed eternity.

Where children, damaged, incomplete,
Stood tall and ran on golden streets.
My heart rejoiced as grace revealed
That every broken wing was healed.