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
