I wrote this poem after hearing a woman on the radio telling the story


When your child dies,

the woman said,

you feel: it should be me

You cannot smile

Or be at peace


And one day

you climb a mountain in fresh air,

slowly plodding

under grey clouds

mind a-swirl, thinking of her

at every idle moment


Then clouds split open

Sun shines through

upon your face

and in your mind

the clouds part too

and happiness, at last, touches your heart  again


back to poetry