I screamed and cried and I cursed the Gods for this Fate,
For giving me a pain and hate that nothing can sedate.
Yet gentle hands lift my head
Their love and compassion fill me and my hate grows dead.
Their silent voices radiate deep in my soul.
They know her sacrifice took its toll.
They too, feel the pain deep inside.
They were weeping with me the day she died.
They tell of her journey to the Pagan Land,
And of how with faith and love, she made her stand.
With a warrior's heart, she won the final fight.
They expressed their pride to have witnessed such a sight.
My little girl stood strong and proud,
Her weaknesses and sickness no longer her shroud.
Long ago to these Gods I pledged my life,
An oath sealed on the blade of my knife.
The Gods did what no Mother ever could,
And allowed her to sleep in peace as a baby should.
So into their care I have placed my child,
My sweet girl, my baby-so tame and yet wild.
With the Gods she now runs and plays.
Although, here, I will mourn her the rest of my days.
For me this was another of many tests,
And even in my darkest hour, In the Gods my Faith still rests.
For Ivy Rosaline Aisling C. March 4--June 1, 2007
