Evening falling –
A soft lamenting
Emptiness cradled
The room despairs.
Idle arms
In the rocking chair
What I love
I cannot hold.
There to hold:
A bear. A framed picture.
A little blue urn
Tucked in baby’s bed.
Children’s books
Forever opened
Never read from.
On walls a shadow casted –
A sapling cut short.
The mother stares
Into a future in vain.
My little buddha 