I know of a woman who lost her child;
And with him, she lost her mind.
Her speech is loud and unrefined,
Her soul a space left undefined.
Her hands draw patterns, up in the air,
And trace along some unknown hair-
Hair that once belonged to her child;
He, to whom she cannot confide,
Her fears of loss, and thoughts of grief.
He who lived, but all too brief.
He, who was her young heart’s thief.

I once knew a woman who lost her child;
Her back curled in the maw of a cat,
Her legs stood shaking from the weight-
The weight that was her body;
Her body that was a shell,
The shell that was her child’s,
He, without voice,
Without form,
Without life,
Who paid for a wrong, that he had not done;
But such is life,
A blank from start to end-
Which only the fates of old may mend,
Change, challenge or bring to an end.

I once knew a woman,
I no longer do;
She faded away amidst winter bloom.
Longing and yearning, now brought to an end,
For now, to her child she can finally tend.