|By Peggy Asher|
|No satin ribboned tiny booties.
No small, soft hand to grasp my finger.
Only memories of what might have been.
Try to put aside; in my heart they linger.
No silky curls to brush from your face.
No cherub lips to drink from my breast.
I yearn to smell your softened skin.
Yet I know my fantasies must be put to rest.
No lullaby comes from my aching throat.
My heart sings out with a mournful song.
I fight to grasp what could have been.
Cold reality sinks in with a harsh refrain…
Life must go on…