Mrs Murphy’s third child
Died in her arms. She never
Forgot the feel and hold,
The warmth still there;
The curly hair just beginning
Would grow no more; the eyes
Closed as if in sleep; the lips
Half open imitating half smile,
Small fists semi open gesturing
Welcome incomplete. She would
Not forget; not the looking down
And seeing that; not the taking
Away after the final hold.

You have others to look after
And care for, they said, meaning
Well maybe, but not understanding,
That a baby lost is a loss with no
Compensation, no matter if more
Followed and came from her womb
And lived and grew, she’d always
Remember the one she lost, that
Never grew, that never ******,
Or opened eyes, or smiled,
Or walked or gripped
Her hand: the lost one;
The third one; the lost child.