"Pieta"

a poem from the collective works of Clara A Treat

How your mother’s heart must have bled
On that cold cruel dawn
When they brought your poor son’s body to you –
All bruised and bloody and torn.

And how your mother’s heart must have ached
When you looked upon his dear face,
Knowing full well, how willingly,
He died to redeem this race.

And yet your thoughts must have backwards flown,
To the days when he was but a babe,
When you cradled and comforted each tiny hurt
And treasured each small step he made.

Dear Mother, our hearts must go out to you
On this the darkest of days,
When you thought that all of the joy you knew,
Would be quiet … and still …for always.