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St Paul's

I remember you…

Your tiny frame full of fearlessness,

teaching the universe,

the ways of the warrior.

 

We met in the church choir;

I was eight and you were six.

I am white and you were black,

already born to fight life’s prejudice.

 

Even then I was frightened;

cancer had claimed so many,

but they were old,

and you were six.

 

Do you remember the wedding?

Suited and booted, in cassock and gown,

you lifted your wig,

and the horror it caused.

 

I was only eight,

but I prayed for days and nights,

that God would give me your cancer,

and let you live…

He never did.

 

I heard your story, at the end,

it hurt for you to be held,

your mummy and daddy wept

whilst you comforted them.

 

You asked them not to cry,

and you said you’d be alright.

You never came back to choir.

Not long after, you died.

 

It was at this very time,

I stopped believing in God,

he never answered my prayer,

your prayer, or theirs.

 

I still remember you…

your tiny frame full of fearlessness,

and how we giggled as girls,

when you doffed your wig to the world.

 

© I am doing this for you 16.06.2014

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Photo Credit: Dave Bevishttp://www.drbevis.demon.co.uk/CILAAA01.htm

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