"The Wooden Cradle"
a white wooden empty cradle, I wait in the nursery room
for the smell of baby fragrance to illuminate sleeping bloom
years have escalated, still sounds of silence hurt my ears
for all I hear are tender sobs from a Mother's broken tears.
I felt a distant heartbeat once, but it has ceased to linger
my warmth caressed a dying soul who touched my slats with finger
his breath was labored; his life short, but I held his heart close
now haunting memories exist as I cuddle his sweet ghost.
my frame sits in a sunny place, outside, I see a tree
swaying in the balmy breeze where a swing should be
instead, I cry, so silently, recall a tiny form
I embraced in a moment in time and kept him safe and warm.
if these walls within this room could whisper words of sorrow
sheer pain would cause tremendous tears to fashion sad tomorrows
I sympathize with woeful walls whose treasure no longer looms
but no-one understands my loss inside the nursery room.
*For Frank H.'s PERSONIFICATION Contest.