I am a mother, though not
You cradle your sweet baby in your arms,
Mine are empty, but I hold him in my heart.
You brush her soft, curly hair and tie pretty pink bows just right,
A lock of his hair is tucked neatly in a book.
You pick daisies and tie them in a chain for her to wear around her neck,
I cut lilacs and arrange them in a vase to place by his grave.
You look forward to dreams and plans,
I hold on to memories.
I am a mother, though not like you.
memory of Dakota