Not like you
I am a mother, though not like you.
You cradle your sweet baby in your armes,
Mine are empty, but I hold him in my heart.
You brush her soft curly hair,
and tie pretty pink bows just right.
A lock of his hair is tucked neatly in a book.
You pick daisies and tie them in a chain
to wear around her neck.
I cut lilacs and arrange them in a vase to set at his grave.
You look forward to dreams and plans.
I hold onto memories.
I am a mother,
though not like you.
By Sheri Hess