Praise him, All Ye little children, comfort, love,

At the cemetery.

I see all the fancy headstones.

With loving words and remembrances

written on them.

Big and bold and beautiful.

Surround by neatly cut grass.

I look around and see a section

near the middle of the cemetery.

Where teddy bears and little crosses

and a large tree is growing covered

in bright ribbons blowing in the breeze.

I walk over and read a few messages on the ribbons.

 And they make me cry.

I look before me. And each little grave.

So tenderly and immaculately kept.

With dolls and toys and teddy bears

as stated before.  Dotted around each

each and every one.

And the song. Praise him, All Ye little children

comes to mind.

And God is looking after his child up above

for their human mums and dads and families,  here on earth.

And I found comfort in that old children's hymn. As I stood

theirs overcome with emotion for these little souls.

Even thou they are gone. They are never far away.

In your hearts and minds.