Myla and Bryson
I never would have named him Bryson anyway
Imagined them playful, smiling, loving
an essence of us
Imagined green grass and a fence to keep
The dog in
Imagined late nights, tv is the only light, as we cuddle
Shining on our family
Happiness
But there is no Myla or Bryson
Nobody’s playful, smiling, loving
There is no dog
There is no family
From the 7 stages of grief
