He carried burden in his little bones
Since the day he first arrived.

His legs would spasm and fail him
In mid run; he always insisted
That he just didn't tie his shoes well.

His arms would always lock at the joints
As he slept; he always just told me
That he was tucked in too tight before bed.

His hands would go numb and he'd
Grip a glass cup too tight; shards splintered
His small palms, but he said it was fine,

And that he was so very sorry.

The smallest coffins are the heaviest,
And I could have swore I heard him
Say he was sorry as I carried

It out in the rain.