Birth is a finite pain
A labour of love that ends with a beginning
Bereavement's a darker labour
That starts with a mortal ending
And there are no answers, no warnings
From God, from Google, from Grief
No reddening of the leaves before the Fall
All that is left are ashes
And smoke from the funeral pall
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem