The preacher and his wife, had been married fifteen years. Time had become their enemy until finally they were blessed with their first and only child. They were so grateful they named their cherubic daughter, Grace. She was a kind and docile child who sang like a bird. As young as four, she would sit in the garden in their backyard chanting. Sunflowers and daisies had become her audience along with stray cats, squirrels, birds and even insects.
nature held hostage
bewitched
voice of an angel
© Tournesol ’16/02/26
beautiful story and poem 🙂 She is truly grace personified 🙂
LikeLike
Thank you, I started off with a tragedy and I took over my muse. I wanted only beauty in this response.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It is a beautiful response. What was the tragedy?
LikeLike
My muse first pictured a child finally born to an older couple who gets hit by a drunk driver later and they named their church after her.
LikeLiked by 1 person
oh wow that is tragic
LikeLike
I know and I preferred something pleasant.
LikeLiked by 1 person
A wise choice, especially for a Friday. Leave us with a smile on our face as we march into the weekend 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
We have enough with hyped up media.
LikeLiked by 1 person
You are quite right 😦
LikeLiked by 1 person
That’s gorgeous. With friends who had the same problem, I can relate to this story perfectly. Brilliant.
LikeLike
Thank you, I’m pleased you could relate to it.
LikeLiked by 1 person