Tiny fabric wings.
Glass and break.
Tears float down and sink.
Hearts burn and ache.
Silent songs serenade.
Seventeen choir strong.
Echos of his promenade;
His guiding silhouette throng.
Two empty lakes in a face.
Dams broke with his strum.
Workers build to replace,
to a quiet birthday hum.
Duel holes pervade.
Each a pair of wings.
A duo of workers convey
Cranes with weighted slings.
Two angels placed in the voids.
Fit perfectly in the dammed heart.
Heaven's ounces into what's destroyed
Can never fix, but it's a start.
Thanks to Stevie for this Saturday's inspiration of birthday angels after her father died.
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