And she sits by the window,
In an old wooden chair,
Her eyes reflect a sadness,
Too many worries, with no one to care.
The room feels too empty,
And the crib is too bare,
And a lone tear runs down her face,
Thinking of the child that should be there.
The pain that she remembers too well,
As she watched his tiny body struggling,
A sad, yet relieved smile crosses her lips,
Knowing that as she looks up to the sky,
The child is finally free, happy there,
With God holding his little hand.
_____________________
# she buries a part of herself.
