No words can bring your baby back;
They’re only clumps of air
And can’t fulfil your sense of lack
Or sew your inner tear.

If I were standing close to you,
I’d offer an embrace
And hold you tight your torment through
And stroke your tearful face.

Or we could take a pretty walk,
As friends and lovers do.
And, no, we wouldn’t need to talk.
Unless you wanted to.

But words are all I have to give
To those who’ve died and those who live.

Photo by Glen Carrie on Unsplash

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