The Orphan

In somber twilight's quiet embrace, An orphaned child with tear-streaked face, Gazed upon a golden fruit, A symbol of solace, grief to mute. The fruit hung high, a treasure divine, A mother's love, that once did shine, A beacon bright of memories dear, Its glow bespoke of love sincere. Alas, no arms to hold, to guide, A void where once a heart resided, In wistful dreams, the child would roam, To find the warmth of love and home. The golden fruit, a spectral sigh, An echo of the lullabies, A fleeting glimpse of what had been, A mother's love, a bittersweet hymn.