Blown leaves cascade across the wastelands of the dead, <br />past ancient stones to forgotten memories, <br />past the kneeling woman. <br /> Her face turned to heavens skies, <br /> tears seep through clench shut eyes, <br />falling to the earth like summer rain. <br /> <br />Nigh the time she bore her son, against the odds they told her, <br /> against her age and failing health, <br />but deep was the longing. <br />The rose she'd placed on tiny mound, <br />praying that the angels found, <br />A place for him in heaven. <br /> <br />Alone I leave the kneeling woman, alone to her thoughts, <br />to her sadness, <br /> to her faith, <br /> for no words or friendly smile, <br />will stay her grief, <br />worn as a wreath, <br />in her closed eyes.<br /><br />Laurie hill<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/stillborn-3/
