What do you do when your baby dies?
Do you leave the toys the same place and step on them as she would
Or, do you put them away from sight so that you don’t remember
The memories which are carved in to your heart
What do you do when your baby dies?
Do you pretend that she never existed?
And wish that it was just a dream.
But you can’t since the scars of maternity remain indented on your skin.
What do you do when you imagine her crying?
And it sounds so real
That you just want to run to her
But have to remember; it’s your imagination
In quiet moments when no one is there.
The Thoughts of her reappear.
You cry, you sigh and it drifts away.
Only god knows why he took her away.
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