(dramatic fictional story)

My wife gave me a blue rose,

The color that she chose…

To symbolize

Our hope denied,

In death before her nose.

The rising hope we had

Was really not so bad…

But denied

Those nights we cried,

No one could break our “sad”.

So many babies died

Why couldn’t ours survive…

Dashed hope

We didn’t cope,

Wishing she were still alive!

What’s even worse it seems

Is dashing of our dreams…

This little one,

So quickly run

Out on our schemes.

Is it better to not have tried,

Of all children be denied…

We cannot say

For that way

We thus have grieved and cried.

Love of parents yearn

For little ones in turn….

A life to be

Image of me,

Sorrowfully our hearts burn!

–Jonathan Caswell

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