In the stillness of one dark night.
You went silently back to your Maker.
Never knew the warmth of your mother’s touch.
Think how different the life may have been.
The smell of your hair. To hold your hand.
To kiss you better and to tell you I love you.
As the days go on and my memory becomes misty. I’m not forgetting you.
I’m learning to let you go. To the safe place prepared just for you.
When I sit silently, my mind tries so hard to imagine. Yet, I cannot see you.
And I remember, you are not mine to keep. You belong to your Maker.
Do you play hopscotch? Do you like apples? Do you chase butterflies?
Less painful to let go of those I can not see.
Maybe that’s a gift although I resent it.
One day, I will see you over by the river.
But you must be patient, because I’d like to pick flowers on the way.