My Lonely Son
My Lonely Son --A cool breeze up from the sea
Passed me as I stood at his grave
A little boy that never stood
A little boy I never held
A little boy that was my son
He'd be 12 and strong
But he died in the womb so long ago
Still born and gray, his spirit golden
He's still my little boy
He is my youngest one
He passed on a summer's day
Amid his mother's tears
This son of ours, a boy, a gift
Worried was I with the coming of yet another
I had two, and anxious about the third
Now I am sorry, and long for his voice
A voice that will never touch me
Yet at times I feel a little hand take mine
As if to comfort me in my grief
I see an image of him when I am alone
Ted Aronis
Copyright ©2001 Ted Aronis
Please login or register
You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
Login or Registerleave comments/feedback and rate this poem.