Singing

A quiet breeze rustles the trees,

A woman in black, on her knees,

She sits alone for hours,

Among the lonely wildflowers,

Singing a tombstone lullaby.

 

The hole in her heart,

The missing part,

To a family torn and broken,

His last words, misspoken,

Singing a tombstone lullaby.

 

The weeping willow whispers,

The green grass glimmers,

The setting sun sits back to watch,

The mother of a missing child,

Singing.

 

 

 

This poem is about: 
My country
Our world

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