When they said you died
I screamed and cried.
Refused to believe the truth;
I could still hear your laughter . . . but for a day.
If I could hold you,
love you, hug you,
rejoice . . . whisper in your ear . . .
maybe I could let you go . . . but for a day
How can I go on
empty, crying, mourning,
living without you?
You have to know I would go . . . to take your place . . . not for a day . . . but forever.
There is discontent
to live, to breathe, each day
without having you.
We were not near, had no time . . . to say good-bye . . . that dreary day . . . I am sorry
I’m not even sure
if it is you buried . . .
the child I once held . . .
for we never saw your face . . . not on that day.
I begged to touch you
to know t’was
my son. With tears in their eyes
folks said that ne’er could be . . . not on that day.
Someone told me, Son,
a monk, holy,
who prayed . . . heaven is your home
but I still long to see you . . . but for a day
As I grow older,
I know you’ll come
fetch me and we will dance
as we glide through heaven’s gate . . . not for a day . . . but forever.

copyright Sandra S Corona, 2003