With a smile radiant like a brilliant sunshine and a face astonishingly divine,
Twin pearls for eyes, so mischievous and sparkling with life as they shyly look into mine;
Perched on a bicycle, with a little ball clutched in a raised fist and ready for a mighty fling,
That was the first sight I had of the little girl with her left hand in a sling.
The sight of the pretty one riding her toy became a sight joyously frequent,
Her absence on the playfield, albeit even for a single day made my heart ache and lament;
Whether it in the act of chasing a puppy, or while precariously perched on a swing,
It was indeed a rarity for a day of mine to end without me smiling at the little girl with her left hand in a sling.
At the sight of a butterfly, from her mother’s grasp she stubbornly wriggles free,
Setting behind it at a trot, with her face an epitome of undisguised glee;
Trying to catch the marvelous flying insect, she lunges to clutch at its wing;
What a refreshing sight it is, to look at the little girl with her left hand in a sling.
Refusing to eat her food, scampering away with tiny morsels clinging to her cheeks,
All the best efforts at persuasion result in the child emanating fiery shrieks;
As her tryst with truant ends abruptly with a meaningful pinch resembling a bee sting;
Tears stream forth from the beautiful eyes of the little girl with her left hand in a sling.
As time speeds by interminably, and the years desert my youth,
The shining strands of gray on my scalp proclaim the harsh eternal truth;
Staring into the twilight, while I contemplate the onset of life’s yet another evening;
All the while wondering, where on God’s good earth would be dwelling the little angel who once had her left hand in a sling.