The first I buried on waste ground behind the cinema
An earnest child alone.
With sorrow he had room for.
Good practice for the man.
My second with my daughter.
Her hopes a burden added to my own.
Not wanting to stretch her capacity for sorrow
with so small a wasted life.
We went to lengths,
to shelter,
to nurture,
to no avail.
Came the third morning I found it dead.
Then you,
my last fledgeling.
You lasted longest,
but went the same.
I could not nourish you;
with love,
or faith,
or seeded womb.
I could not abandon you,
It cost me much,
Sorrow over-brimmed me at last,
but like your feathered sisters;
I could not save you in the end.
You were the hardest to bury.
I\'m burying you still.