The Wooden Cradle

Written by: Linda-Marie SweetHeart

"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.