My Little Pumpkin
A tiny sprout grows out in the back field
where once jack-o-lanterns were tossed.
It quietly grows unnoticed by man
until a small round orange-skinned bulb
appears in the midst of trailing vines.
Frost comes early this year
smiting the little pumpkin
before it is ready to be picked
blanketed with glistening crystals
reflecting the morning sun.
My hands shake as I glimpse the test
a faint line indicates you are real.
My many prayers are answered
to know you are growing inside.
Just like your older sibling
it is not to be for you
to walk upon this earth
even though you’ve walked
upon my heart.
I know, my little pumpkin,
I will see you again
somehow, somewhere, by some
heavenly power we will meet.
The glistening tears of joy will then
smite the pain I now feel.
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