Five Children I
Five Children I
Once helped conceive,
I watched them grow
I watched them leave,
And each one left
A wound in me,
And some left two
And some left three.
And now when I
Cry out in pain
There’s not one left
To call my name,
There’s not one left
To grieve for me
Though I wept through
Each history.
But when they grow
They may conceive,
May learn to know
What wounds we leave,
And think back on
Some long despite
When I lay staring
Late at night.
2 October 1981
poem by David Lewis Paget
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