The Music Box

I brought in a music box for my baby.
My baby, sick in a hospital bed.
Her tiny fingers curled into a fist
Fighting for her life.

I wished to take her place
But knew it was impossible
So I sat, by her bed
Stroking her soft, silky cheek.

I prayed God would have her better
That she’d get a chance at life.
I prayed fervently for hours
Watching her struggle for every breath.

Everyday I played her Music Box
Her tiny face would try a smile
She loved to hear the chimes and bells
Sing her to a more comfortable sleep.

Restless? I’d play the Music Box
One day the doctor sighed, nothing more he could do
He walked to the Music Box and wound it.
Left, leaving it play.

I always played it until she fell asleep
But the doctor wasn’t aware…
And the music box stopped.

Trying to find comfort while packing her little things
I wound up the tiny Music box
But it wouldn’t play, it wouldn’t sing.
It had broken…

I started to weep, she had so loved the chimes
But regained control with a thought
The Music Box once again had made her happy
As the chimes sounded on in another place.