There's a field at the beginning of town, With tombstones that line the ground. Everyday gets harder to pass, I take other roads so that good memories last. That morning in March replays in my head, Like a bad test you continue to dread. The thoughts of you being gone still doesn't seem real, People say it gets easier as time goes, But honestly it gets harder to heal. Questions of why cross my mind, I know there's a bigger plan, I just miss you mom.. Love- Your little man.