Laid To Rest

Today I saw a daughter laid to rest. A mother tries to heed her own advice. Holding it in surely put her to the test. She failed more than once or twice. Her failing was no artificial device. She tried, Lord how hard she tried. She simply could not pay the price. She cried, oh how the mother cried. She was a fifth grade teacher, the best. The kids all sought her out for advice. Fifty Eight, so young but so blessed, too young, to pay this enormous price, too old to fashion protective gneiss. Her mother knew of this fierce pride. Yet, she couldn’t save her baby’s life. She cried, oh how the mother cried. The building now full, still they pressed, her former students, learning pain of life. From one loved, who had faced the test, and had not complained about sacrifice. While a mother mortally wounded twice who faced this when her husband died hopes to God she will not see this thrice. She cried, oh how the mother cried The mother, paying the mother’s price, before her eyes could have fully dried. With more than enough love to suffice, she cried, and oh how the mother cried. For Catie's ballade contest Feb 22, 2011