Snow on frosted maples
melts in drops like tears;
tears which fall in silent
weeping for our fallen children.

The cold and dying season
has seen the passing of more
than russet leaves and
southward-winging birds.

The children too, have flown
and left behind this frozen home
where so much pain and grief
are all that mark their passing.

Silence greets their homes on Christmas morn’;
where families with hollow eyes and broken hearts
unwrap the un-given gifts
and rasp out the unanswerable, “Why?”

Through the long dark nights of winter
a mother will stand watch over
an empty bed, an empty room,
while praying that this cold would one day end.

Frost on new-turned earth,
where lies a fallen child,
cradled in the good earth’s *****
awaiting the thaw of snow on frosted maples.



©2012 Michael Hunter