Bright balloons,
they flutter in the breeze,
colourful streamers,
flicked from the trees,
playing a role of their own.
they hang as prayer flags.
Sometimes the sky cries,
loudly,
only for the loved and lost,
how dare they go and die.

Candles guard their yard,
protecting eternal life,
sentinels to the hallowed plots,

The spirits of the young,
they skip and trip,
stepping over the flagged markers of long passed elders.

Parents cry,
sometimes discreetly,
sometimes wailing,
an admission of sorrow at their loss,
others clutching emotion far inside,
locked up tight,
while denying their loss.

Pray sweet spirits,
pray,
you sleep tight,
for the occupants of the infants graveyard,
No more living load to bear here.

Cold silence hangs in the air,
supported by the strings of pain,
sleep peaceful,
resting in your blessed innocence!
(C) Livvi