Her Loss
by Lord R.e. Taylor
No one ever speaks to her
They do not look at her
She does not exist
But they can hear her sobs
See the puddle of tears below her
They do not know why she does it
Just that every moment of every day
She can be seen in the same place
Holding a soft pink blanket
Sadly, it is all torn and dirty
But to her, it is made of the softest silk
And it is the most beautiful thing ever
The blanket her baby was wrapped in
So long ago when she took her first and last breath
When that woman gave up any hope
Now all she does is cry for what she had
And for what she lost
© Poem – IX/I/MMXXVI
LRET
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