Homework 28th December
Posted: Mon Dec 21, 2015 9:14 pm
Not a cheerful one at all I'm afraid, but there are many people for whom Christmas is a very sad time indeed...
It’s growing darker in our hearts now Christmas season nears;
we sit a while reflecting sadly, faces streaked with tears,
remembering the last one with its devastating grief—
our little angel only lent, her life so cruelly brief.
I see the doctor’s mouth repeating kindly, whiskered lies;
“You’ll bear more children dear – it just takes time, you realise.”
Returning to our empty house, as one we turned and froze
to see those bright beribboned boxes trimmed with pretty bows,
like thoughtless empty promises now broken and unknown,
beneath the tree as if to taunt - confirming, “You’re alone!”
We gripped each other’s hands and tried to bravely speak her name,
aware that Christmases for us would never be the same.
No more the loving cuddles when she’d wake to each new day,
her unrestrained infectious laughter ringing while at play;
no more her constant singing, which she loved with all her heart—
those sparkling eyes and golden curls that charmed us from the start.
With wisdom far beyond her years she bore that dread disease,
with uncomplaining fortitude that brought us to our knees.
Our darling daughter vanished overnight – or so it seems,
and took with her our wonder, light, and joyful hopes and dreams.
Yet hope we must, and somehow strive for strength to start again,
while trusting she is happy somewhere safe, released from pain—
believe that though she left our care with fragile paper wings,
now strong and free forevermore, our precious angel sings.
It’s growing darker in our hearts now Christmas season nears;
we sit a while reflecting sadly, faces streaked with tears,
remembering the last one with its devastating grief—
our little angel only lent, her life so cruelly brief.
I see the doctor’s mouth repeating kindly, whiskered lies;
“You’ll bear more children dear – it just takes time, you realise.”
Returning to our empty house, as one we turned and froze
to see those bright beribboned boxes trimmed with pretty bows,
like thoughtless empty promises now broken and unknown,
beneath the tree as if to taunt - confirming, “You’re alone!”
We gripped each other’s hands and tried to bravely speak her name,
aware that Christmases for us would never be the same.
No more the loving cuddles when she’d wake to each new day,
her unrestrained infectious laughter ringing while at play;
no more her constant singing, which she loved with all her heart—
those sparkling eyes and golden curls that charmed us from the start.
With wisdom far beyond her years she bore that dread disease,
with uncomplaining fortitude that brought us to our knees.
Our darling daughter vanished overnight – or so it seems,
and took with her our wonder, light, and joyful hopes and dreams.
Yet hope we must, and somehow strive for strength to start again,
while trusting she is happy somewhere safe, released from pain—
believe that though she left our care with fragile paper wings,
now strong and free forevermore, our precious angel sings.