Tears trickle in little troughs down my back

Poor babies, poor children

Crystal vases in Heaven shatter when they hit the ground

Like a living thing they stumble haltingly down my back

I wipe them away and

As they catch in my hand I look, I see

Reflected back at me what my children see:

A dark cloud rising from the ocean

Gliding down, chasing them, eating them,

Holding them tight in a webbed embrace

I see their hope ebbing slowly away

Consumed by the dark, lost in the fog.

Everything gone but me.

But me, I see.

I see for the first time:

I see the lighthouse

I see cloudless skies

I see flowers bright, grass green

I see butterflies

I see Faith. Hope. Love.

I see them not in their full glory.

Not yet. Not yet but I will.

Because you see,

Their Father, he is dead.

And we, we are finally free