I read in the paper this morning
that we were hugged.
That sometimes a nun cried
when fledgling flew from her fold-
a sister of scripture sobbing for a son
she would never call her own.
We were just play toys
far from the playground-
touches temporary
while waiting to be wanted.
I read in that paper this morning
that sometimes someone sang to us-
before we knew what a song was
or what sadness meant
or how tears come not only in sorrow,
new born babies already waiting
on new names in the odd arms
of a caped collection of sacred ladies
singing us songs of selection.
All words by Damien B Donnelly
Damien B. Donnelly 
Second time of reading, and the sadness drives even deeper. Immensely moving, Damien.
Thank you Sarah. Not for the sadness but for coming back the second time 🙏🙏☘️💚
Found the article online and read, other articles too. So much loss and lost. Hugs xx
Thank you for the hugs my friend 🙏🙏🤗😘
Such a mess of mixed up morality and so many people with broken hearts.
Dark days indeed, I hope these are brighter ones and the future has more and brighter ones in store for us all 🤞
I do too. It certainly ought to given how much we know and denounce of what happened in the past.
My response echoes Jane–too many broken hearts. (K)
Far too many. And for these whose recorded were destroyed- utterly tragic