Dedicated to Deandre Gladden

We lost him on a southern spring day.
The birdsong ringing melodies in our ears,
sunjoy rays accompanied by new air,
flowers opened and shouted, “I’m here!”

But we still lost.

The tears unfallen from the sky now dripped down our faces
after a call from his father paused the dayspring.
The birds stared at their reflection in the covered window
and the sunjoy was unseen too.

We lost but he won.

He won because of humanities’ biggest loss.
Perfect Love hanged red-stained on the cross—
So, after ground was dug and he was lowered,
Red turned to gold in Perfect Love’s glow.