A Burden Too Dear

Tears that flow will never cease
The heart will never mend
Of a Mother who sits by a tiny casket
Draped with lace and tiny rosebuds

No one but another of her kind
Can ever know the depth of her sadness
Nor the pain of her grief
She'll hear not the angels nor the voice of God

The darkness envelops on long nights like this
She still sees the face of the babe at her breast
After thirty-six years I still miss you, my son
Sleep sweetly in Heaven. Soon your Mother will come.

Copyright August 23, 2008 Anna Stephens