A mother’s grief, like her love, is endless
I miss you more with every passing day.
I hear your voice, see again the glint of
wicked humour in your eyes – and thank
God we had you even for this short while.
My beautiful boy. Beloved son.
Ten years have passed, yet seems like yesterday
I held your hand and watched you slip away
whispered words of love as only mothers might.
I fancy you are in the stars, the cosmos;
that now you have answers to the questions
we often pondered deep into the night.
Your mother’s grief is endless, like her love.