Honey, milk, and tea is whispered to them;

Foggy skin of angels dressed in pure whites.

Doll gently swaddled in a shiva gem.

Peacefulness is what embroils ardent cites:

Candles are blown, the umbra becomes mist.

Smoke that looks like a living work of art...

Freeness from life flows in every plush twist;

Upper blankets keep them from being apart.

Hearts smell the powder of lost grace, glum tears.

Little minerals fall from God touched eyes;

Gray cumulous, symphony no one hears.

Pain cured by lullabies, sing and it dries.

      Melodies make youthful souls whirl in puff;

     Shapes, colors show that their present in fluff.