The Poet/ Georgette Baini

Charbel Baini's Niece
Charbel Baini sat at his desk
In a flesh of inspiration,
Head bent,
Writing fiercely about the beauty and terror of life,
Surrounded by three roses,
All still blooming:
His darling nieces.
As they sit and watch him in awe
His fingers fly across the page
Racing to catch up with his thoughts.
He writes of his country,
A land of sweet tears,
Of his people,
Crying for their freedom.
A tingling drop
Falls from his deep brown eyes
As he remembers the joy he found
In those holy white Christmas
Chasing his brothers around in the snow.
If only people didn't grow.
If only he still had those days
In the palm of his hand.