The Journey

Upon death the Spirit was born

Not heralding a crown or extravagantly adorned

The Spirit was free, and had a right to be

Free to watch the ones who lived near the land or across the sea

 

The little one the Spirt watched over

Had the name and attitude of sweet Clover

The mother held the little one tight

Then kissed the little one good night

 

Weeks went on as the Spirit saw

And the child found they ought to gnaw

The Spirit was entranced by the child

And when the child saw the Spirit it smiled

 

At the age of four the child became sick

The Spirit came to the child with a candlestick

And hovered above the hospital bed

The child’s face a shade of red

 

The Spirit was debating what to do

To save a life or say adieu

The Spirit hovered at the bedside

And thought the sickness unjustified

 

The Spirit sat and waited

The more time, the more the Spirit felt agitated

There was a noise from the machine

Then began the scene

 

Memories of the past flowed through the Spirit

The noise was begging to fear it

The Spirit knew what to do

To make the child anew

 

The Spirit lowered down to the body

No longer wanting to be disembodied

The child’s eyes opened right then

The Spirit began to live again

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
Guide that inspired this poem: 
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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