This is for all mothers who have a child in heaven including myself.
It is cold,
Of course it is freezing cold, it is winter, isn't it.
She turned on the light, the light flickers.
She slipped on her fluffy slipper.
Her baby slide out her body.
Slide out like a fish from her fingers.
His journey had gone to eternity.
Tears shed to wet her face.
There is a lump in her throat.
She swallows and she reads the poem her friend had given her.
Tomorrow she will bury her son.
She will read the poem at his little grave.
This poem was given to me. A Campomelic baby has been called to heaven.