The first thing
that I noticed
was the child's beauty.

Then again
I realized how
I can judge a book
by its binding.

My fingers
laced behind my head
while the back of my mind
rest in the palm of my hands.

The linking of
those bony fingers
a sign
of my threadbare body,
barely old, barely able.

There she was,
waving her habitual bliss
like a carrot
on the end of a stick.

While a silent psalm
surrounds a starry angel's glow.