Still was the breath upon his little chin.
Bursting gently, was the mothers cry,
within the pain, the sorrow wins,
and yet she said goodbye.
In the walls, there is a loud, gusting wind
crushing souls in its wake…
The room, with sadness rimmed.
Yet she gently smiled, crooked and fake.
Sparkled, the cherub sits on golden sheets.
Embraced and loved, endlessly.
She kissed his feet,
humming lullabies, fervently.
“And I loved you so, in the way the clouds love sunrise.
The tender dove, always, in my eyes.”
