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