She ached, not from the weight,
But from the absence of it.
The gentle waves of breath,
Rising and falling had ceased
And her arms had nothing
To pull in close…
She hung her head in
Unbearable unhappiness,
But it found nothing to kiss-
No soft fuzzy head,
So tiny wrinkly fingers,
No relaxed little hand.
She did not miss what was, but rather,
What could have been.
She was tired from what
She no longer carried
Exhausted from grieving
With no one offering to understand.
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