I stood by the cross and cried

For the baby who had died

Early on that Easter morn

Dead before he was even born

All the people rushing by

They don’t see the tears I cry

A little cross stands in the ground

The snow is melting all around

Hot cross buns are baked next door

The scent of bread wafts from the store

The eggs are hidden in the grass

The church’s faithful start to amass

The morning is fresh; my grief is raw

I remember the things I heard and saw

The cry of their babies; the cold skin on mine

The grief I will carry to the end of my time

I hear, in the trees, a red robin chirp

The brass bells ring from inside the church

Easter is here, another spring’s sprung,

Fresh tears fill my eyes as the first hymns are sung

All around is new life, but here, in the soil,

Lies the end of nine months of tears, blood, and toil

And though more springs will come and Easters will go

My baby is dead, a life none will know


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