The spring before she killed herself
chirping birds beckoned as she laughed, amused
by shy daughter clutching daffodils. She
nestled babe close against her breast, held him
firmly in crook of her frail arm.

One feels fresh hope leap from the page
and the three of them sweep to life, emerge
in full living color in spite of this
sepia-toned photograph. These tender
moments felt and understood by

another mother left behind,
I recognize unmitigated joy;
innocence; sacred bond with all that was,
all she believed would one day come to be...
a single moment's happiness.

That day beneath towering oak
her infant son gazed toward heavenly skies.
Did he acknowledge angel guardian?
Or did he sense an evil come to claim
his gentle mother unaware?

Smiling down upon her children,
Sylvia knew love's eternity. Sure
she’d banished “menacing gods,” she frolicked,
followed untroubled heart through boundless fields
the spring before she killed herself.