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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 © | Year Posted 2019

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