A baby cries being born; around my finger his hand curled

His soul exposed to the world 

From the comfort of his mother’s womb

A heart on my sleeve I so proudly worn


Sacrifice and time at work

Hours of toil I wish would have otherwise spent

Vacations at the beach, our feet in the sand

Joyous memories I try to recall at your grave where I stand


My child, my son, my best friend

Our dreams and plans, when you died, came to an end

Movies and music, words written on a page 

Compare very little to the sorrow for the loss of my son at his young age.



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