Old songs whisper messages
Too tired to speak them aloud.
Floating lazily along a shimmering brook
Their stories lap a mural of waves
Against vivid hues of antique dreams.
Suddenly, they awake‑‑
Once again, soaring to heights never before touched.
Their meanings are re‑discovered
In a joyous reunion with their Maker.
These babes, born high above the clouds,
They are too precious to be handled without gloves.
Their lives must retain mysteries,
Mysteries of their Creator.