a shroud of low clouds dampens the cemetery’s mood a chubby stone cherub sits amidst the mists his green gold patina weathering the cycling seasons throughout the years bathed in spring’s renewal April’s showers and morning’s dews basked in summer’s thermal waves expanding like the days chilled in the crisp crackle of autumn’s change enduring bitter snows of frozen white winters but every Christmas Eve he’s comforted moved by dance of candles warmed by heavenly halos’ glow little cathartic coronas twinkling like a mother-made indoor constellation commemoratively flickering on her mantle in annual visual manifestation of her lifelong heartstrings illuminated by the depth of their reach honoring her child her little angel born too soon and too perfect for this world