Singing
A quiet breeze rustles the trees,
A woman in black, on her knees,
She sits alone for hours,
Among the lonely wildflowers,
Singing a tombstone lullaby.
The hole in her heart,
The missing part,
To a family torn and broken,
His last words, misspoken,
Singing a tombstone lullaby.
The weeping willow whispers,
The green grass glimmers,
The setting sun sits back to watch,
The mother of a missing child,
Singing.
This poem is about:
My country
Our world