Meadow
17 April 2021

In the quiet meadow lay a tiny child.
Murmuring softly, left here in the wild.
She has no name, no one to call her own.
Here in the meadow, she has her only home.
Shadowed by the brush and grass,
Life will never last..

Somewhere in the valley, stands a mother free,
Her child has passed, buried by that tree.
Emptied by pain and loss, we all can bemoan.
Such a hunger, when you are alone.