She had dreamed of a child, her first to hold,
in her head, she painted the nursery in colors of gold.
Confident, it all works out.
This time,
she had absolutely no doubts.
But the third month came.
Her world fell apart,
her baby’s heartbeat,
stopped again.
Gone was the joy, the hope,
her healing heart.
She cried in secret,
calm as the rain,
Holding on
to her silent pain.
Some months ago, he planted a tree,
For his lady.
A tiny sprout, now tall and free.
Growing strong,
With branches reaching for the sky,
never did they expect,
But some things are meant to die.
When she's looking at the tree, which rose so high,
while her baby sleeps above in the sky,
she wonders when will a new chance arrive,
to hold her baby in her arms,
alive?
Remind herself to see a spark,
everyday to live,
despite the dark.
Each spring, new buds begin to bloom.
A sign of hope, soon in her womb?
She wont give up, writes about the pain
as art of her lost child,
forever within her heart.
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