I've watched him grow all his life. I watched her grow as his wife. Today I watch as their dream is taken. A dream so fragile, it "breaks if shaken". Their dream they had, was for the two yet born. They planned and waited for that approaching morn. Grandma's and Grandpa's were excited as well. One for each lap, boys or girls, time would tell. When he said, "Dad, the babies are dead !" I closed my eyes and hung my head. Though miles apart, I could see his face. I could see the tears, as down they raced. How do you hug someone over a phone ? How do you hold them, so they aren't alone ? Dreams can be shatterd, dreams can be torn. Our dreams are gone for these angels born. But a new dream has sprung from all this sorrow. A new dream that will carry us into tommorrow. An Angel in Heaven will begin raising these boys. She will provide them with love, and all of their joys. And they will call her Grandma. Author: Albert Whiteing Poem dedicated to my grandson's, who died at birth.
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