She looks much like an angel in her white lace hat and dress.
Her patent leather shoes are polished; her beads clutched to her chest.
She almost looks as if asleep, but, sadly, we know better.
Violence shattered an Easter morn; this child may sleep forever.

The tiniest of martyrs, who can tell the reason why
She was murdered by hearts full of hate who determined she should die.
Her little classmates are here too, awaiting the embalmers art.
A little boy in his blue suit; it’s enough to break a parents’ heart.

There first was an explosion, and then began the screams and shouts.
The Terrified parishioners were in a panic to get out.
The dead and dying left behind enveloped in a silent peace.
First responders found them there. They called for doctors and a priest.

The man of sorrows bears his cross; upon his head a crown of thorns.
His naked feet step upon the Stony path that leads to the glory of Easter morn.
His back is marred by ****** stripes; he bears our imperfections.
Remember, Christians, without the cross there can be no Resurrection