IN REMEMBERANCE OF
MARY JANE WEAVER
June 23, 1941 - July 9, 2003

I HEAR THE CHILDREN CRY

I hear the children cry at night,
new souls does Satan try to reap.
As voices loud and shrill you see
have waken them from peaceful sleep.

They cry while mom and daddy fight,
As wrong and hurtful words and deeds
go on as endless as the night
unheeding of their children's needs.

With thoughtless minds so filled with hate,
wrong words pronounced so clearly now.
So frightening while the hour is late
how quickly now they... soon learn how.

These things they carry through the years,
with hearts so deeply filled with sorrow;
As creams then turn to silent tears,
raised in a world of no tomorrow.



August 1992
Inspired by Ida & Steven

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