The tiny queens and kings they are, the reflections of God his children are.
I have three of them myself, I’ll call them Honey, Tea, and Rose.
These ones for now I call my own.
Images of the Father in their crystal baby blues,
little babies reflect his beauty in their eyes.
I will try to wonder poetically in awe of these gifts.
To you my children, from your mother, I love you:
Honey; for my little son Daniel,
with his brightly sweet smile and luminescent head,
crowned in a platinum glory of hair.
He is joy-filled with wonder as beloved prince and prophet.
dreams of visions will be his to interpret.
Tea; for my mulata-looks baby Edith Clare,
washed with her sweet brown-ness of skin.
Her crystal eyes are not embedded in the porcelain
of both her brother and sister. She is
the night of solitude, bringing on peaceful rest
as she sleeps like a doll, not complaining of the day.
The beauties of hope she gives to desperate earth.
Rose; for Alice’s sweetest apples of her cheeks,
setting on top she sees through big almond-shaped diamonds,
the dimples in her face complimenting her mischievous grin.
Down the hole to Wonderland, she is the phenomenon of conversations.
Canticles of the sun are hers to sing.
Together these little cherubs make up a meadow of yellows, pinks, and blues. I see it through
the looking glass of my growing prolific garden. The soil is fertile, growing delightful seeds of
the symbols of souls created in love. In this artwork the Divine Creator
entreats the gazes of anyone and makes them
mystical at the sight.
Natural, yet spiritual, children of light portray a living image of the living God.
Deepest interior, oh how I cannot express their loveliness plainly.
The words of Messiah tell stories of heaven’s goodness;
he says them in parables of poetry about me and about you,
to veil his precious creations.
Therefore, I utter the mysteries of beauty, for you:
My Honey, My Tea, My Rose.