POEMS OF MY GRANDMA WITH DEMENTIA #19/ Divine child

A child poem was born...

There was Herodes

that cut the infancy of its verse

A child has died...

But his dead is for growing!

He had a lot to wait.

Oh! How long...

Stubborn he fights in between the rocks,

in the cracks the step opens...

He is living!

If the miracle is born,

There will be no Hereodes that kills him.

He will keep on living!