Crestfallen
Mother sobbed throughout the night.
Her face was ashen,
Chasms carved where her tears would run.
Her profound beauty,
All but dust in the wind.
I can barely recognize her now.
Father left.
He Said,
"How can I love a memory.
A fleeting one at best?
The doctors could not help,
So what good am I?"
As he walked out the door.
She needed no reminder,
Of those,
Loved and lost,
The memories of which,
Called home such a barren land.
Still, ironic indeed,
She could never let go,
Of something she never held.
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