The Orbs in a Photograph.

The children playing near the tree

Cannot be seen by you or me

But when you cry they wipe your tear

to let you know that they are near.

When you play and laugh and run

they join in, loving all the fun

They trace the smile upon your face

Then kiss your cheek and join the race.

They know your sadness never leaves

and give treasures as they pass.

They’re the feathers on your carpet,

The orbs in a photograph.

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