Precious Little Ones

"Miserable day," I heard them cry,
blustery cold and snow from the sky.
It's a lovely day for us you see:
our baby girl, born at ten past three.

The doctors looked at her with dismay;
she won't live to see another day.
I saw her kick and I saw her fight,
then she cried and bellowed through the night.

They all gathered to comfort our loss
but I just stared as I saw her toss.
"Sorry," they said, as they bid goodbye,
but then I saw a flame in her eye.

Weeks have passed and she is still with us,
feisty, screaming, and throwing a fuss.
Her mother's knees are now raw from prayer,
refused solace or comfort of chair.

Scores later and a child of her own,
three-years-old and so cute on the phone.
The news came she was hit by a Jeep.
Our hearts were shattered, painfully deep.

In a coma, a bruise on her head,
desperate tears covering her bed.
Two red-eyed women on bended knees,
praying and crying and asking, "Please?"

Her eyelids flicker, we wonder why,
I look and see a spark in her eye.
A new hope again when all seemed bleak,
"Mommy, hold me!" A tear on her cheek.