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Three Hearts
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Loss The sun is shining and children play noisily in the park.
It isn’t fair.
Birds are singing, Thrush, Blackbird, Lark
It isn’t fair.
We huddle in the darkened room with a polaroid likeness of Our lifeless daughter.
Is that fair?
The wind blows, the tide changes as the world turns
Without care.
Night falls, cloudy, moonless,
Darker still, our despair.
“Chin up lad, she'll need you now!”
The midwife pats my back.
Her words fall on deafened ears,
still ringing from that dreadful crack,
Three hearts
Breaking!
In memoriam, Johanna Roetz-Butterworth +22.Dec.1997
