THE BOX

Resting on  dusty rafters
in the attic space
cocooned in cobwebs
concealed by darkness
lies a wooden box.

Inside, the story
of a short life
written in love
wrapped in grief
lost in time.

Today, unsealed
a wound revealed
a need fulfilled
in reconnection
to a child.

A teddy bear
stained with tears
and yellow drops
of medication
that failed to save a life.

Graveside cards
stolen from wreaths
their heartfelt words
faded and lost
but not to this heart.

A pack of nappies
never opened,
a babygro
that never clothed
a tiny helpless form.

But most poignant of all
the umbilical clamp
white plastic encrusted
in dried blood.
Is it yours or mine?

If yours then this
is all I have
of a precious baby girl
who lived nine months
inside of me
but a mere two weeks
in the World.

And how these bereaved
and empty arms
long to hold you still,
but I guess for now
your teddy bear
as a substitute must do
and with these often falling tears
I'm counting down life's years
until my time on Earth is spent
and I'm reunited with you.