|By Gwen Flowers|
it was all for the best,
that something was probably wrong.
it was meant to be,
same miserable song.
”You can have another!”
As if that would make it alright.
”It was not a real child.”
Somebody’s not very bright.
Somebody thinks it is helpful
to say when grieving should end.
Somebody shows their true colors.
Somebody isn’t a friend.
But somebody said, “I’m sorry.”
And sat quietly by my side.
And somebody shared my sorrow
and held my hand when I cried.
And somebody always listened
and called my lost baby by name.
And somebody understood
that I’d never again be the same.