He was just an angel,
The newest, smallest one,
The bother of six others,
The mother’s youngest son.

He just lay there in the crib,
Waiting for the mother,
To find his lifeless limbs,
And for what she must discover.

His soul was taken in the night,
His body would remain,
With no answer as to why,
This mother’s heart must pain.

The doctor called it crib death.
Science had few clues.
The mother lost her mind,
As she crumbled at the news.

It’s now ten years later.
His mother still feels pain,
And in another thousand years,
She knows she’ll feel the same.

His body, in the grave yard.
Flowers mark the spot,
But still no answers come,
From beneath the flower pot.

His mother tends the site,
Tears flowing all the while.
But knows that up in heaven,
Waits for her, her youngest child.



Lavender Leigh
April 24, 2005