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In memory of a lost child.

Pink is the new blue

Laura, Laura, Laura,
I love ya, love ya, love ya;
Locked in an incubator,
Perhaps I'll hold you later.

Spring is a month of birth,
In heaven and on earth,
Seeds burst and buds untwine,
Life and death draw a line.

Laura, Laura, Laura,
I miss ya, miss ya, miss ya;
Gone from an incubator,
Perhaps I'll see you later.

Summer is a month of death,
Heat sucks the fragile breath,
Flies buzz instead of bees
And I'm forced to my knees.

Laura, Laura, Laura,
I kiss ya, kiss ya, kiss ya;
Released by a boffin
Before placing in a coffin.

Autumn is a month of tears,
Days pass off as years,
You are two weeks cold,
I am a tragedy old.

Laura, Laura, Laura,
I love ya, love ya, love ya;
Your grave may be small
But your memory towers all.

Winter is a month of sleep,
Frozen icicles where we weep,
But in the frigid flora and fauna
Stirs the earth-spirit of little Laura.

Poetry by Christopher Fernie