One morning a child was born.
She was born as her father walked in the sand.

He heard the thunder, he saw the lightning.
It was raining debris; He wished for water.

Across the world
he felt she had arrived, though he had not been told.
He knew she was coming.
He was missing her; loving her, imagining her.

Every grain of sand was a future memory.
He pictured her growing.
He colored her hair blonde.
Her eyes would be blue, and fingers long;
Hands of a future pianist.
She'd grow to be strong, like her mother.
Soon he could hear the melody,
as she fluttered her fingers on the keys;
Hair in a French braid.

He held the sand in his hands,
careful not to drop a single grain.

She was growing so quickly.
A beautiful young girl on a stage;
The lead in the school play.
He heard his own hands applauding,
though he never let go of the sand.
Proms and dances, cameras flash;
She is happy.

A white wedding gown, he escorted her,
and gave her away;
A kiss on the cheek, and a smile.

One morning, a child was born
as her father walked in the sand.

"With the Rockets Red Glare,
Bombs Bursting in Air"

He died in Iraq,
I know Lexi was there.

Lexi was born at 11:15 ;
He died at 11:00.

I am sure
by the grace of God,
they crossed paths
in Heaven.