When you lose a child,
the grief never ends,
But here's the thing:
Her wool scarf around my neck,
the warmth and scratch of it,
The day went pale with blanketing cloud,
and the sun was a blot on the sky,
But here's the thing:
The night turned colder and clear,
the moon an ice blade in the pines,
Again, in a dream, she touched me,
and all the next day by my side,
But here's the thing:
Snow like feathers, no wind,
a cardinal blood-bright in the laurel.
Winter immaculates the north,
and heaven reheavens the ground,
But here's the thing:
When you’ve lost a child,
the grief never ends.
