His Eyes, An Ode to Baylee Almon

I open my eyes; looking up I see
The face of a man who is holding me.
His face, I see, has very pretty eyes
But I see tears and wonder why he cries.

He is a fire man; his face covered with dirt.
But why is he holding me; why do I hurt?
He moves his mouth but I can’t hear a sound
And I can’t move my head to look around.

I wonder why I can’t hear anything
I can’t move my arms, my legs hurt and sting.
So I look up into his eyes for a while
Tears make lines down his cheeks, but still he smiles.

It’s hard for me to breath; I cough and choke
I’ve only looked at his eyes since I woke.
I’m so cold and tired but I want to see
The eyes of this gentle man holding me.

His pretty eyes; tired and red from crying
He looks as if he sees someone dying.
Now I see the angels and realize
But I take one last look into his eyes.