Loss
She mourned
her
unborn
children
both,
the planned
and unplanned
no one could
console her.
Especially me.
she mourned
her
lost son
cancer reaches
beyond age
no one could
console her.
Especially me.
always
a tear in
their smile
and
an
indescribable,
unappeasable
ache
stamped
across their
wrinkled
forehead
no one can
console them…
don't even try.
Especially me.
poem by Tim Labbe
Added by Poetry Lover
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