A Hundred Times a Day
I find you in the place of tears baby,
oh, you never saw the azure sky above;
have been beneath the soil all these years,
but I have spoken to you a hundred times a day.
Nothing is engraved bay,
no name, no date;
I am sorry my little one,
I was so very young myself.
Your father faded from my life- the reality,
of a girl who would have his child;
and then you were born and quickly gone,
my parents told me you were adopted.
They thought to protect,
no name, no date at all;
and for all these years,
I have searched for you.
I spoke to you every day my little son,
dreaming of what could have been;
I contemplated a life with my own little boy,
yes, a hundred times a day without words.
Now, it is time for me,
to honor your name and date;
to engrave it in the stone,
it is time to correct the wrong.
(and now my search for you . . . is over)
_______________________
May 1, 2015
Poetry/Verse/A Hundred Times a Day
Copyright Protected, ID 15-1164-777-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the Standard Contest, VERSE A FAVOURED THEME
sponsor, Brian Strand
Honorable Mention
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2019
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