I had a dream one dreadful night
I was a Mother to a beautiful baby
Of such very small size
I loved and adored that child
But the baby soon became sick
And then my baby died
I cried and I cried and I cried
I ran and screamed throughout the night:
‘Help! Help! My child has died!’
But the Doctors just shamefully shook their heads
‘There’s nothing anyone can do’, they said
‘Bury your child; there is no cure for Death
I went to the priests and their Holy Church
Awaiting the resurrection of the dead
I waited lifetimes for Christ, but he was never there
So at last I went elsewhere to search
I went to the Buddha, the Temple, and the Prophet too
With all of them my terrible loss was shared
I thought them all wise, and they had so very much to say
But, really; none of it mattered
My baby still rotted in their grave
At last I awoke from my dream, but still I cried
In the end, what difference does it make if there’s a god
If children still continue to die?