The death of a child, a fruit torn from the tree,
A desperate phrase, a common refrain,
“That’s not the way it’s supposed to be!”
It echoes through time, a howl of pain.
For parents, each twig is a limb
that branches off into forever,
and when it’s lost, that light gone dim,
forever dies off into never.
Never to see that tree grown tall,
with leaves and branches proudly grown,
forever to feel that wrenching fall,
the loss in heart, and soul, and bone.