Peter
I loved how the wind would run through my hair,
So happy; so free! Not a single care.
I watched my dear Peter, down by the sand,
That three year old body, safe in God’s hands.
He’d be fine on his own, of that I was sure.
Nowadays though, I’m not so secure.
I wonder now, how could I have been so blind?
Because that three year old body, no one could find.
The cut of the waves were like of a knife,
Finding pleasure in the loss of a life.
I’ll never forget how he cried for help,
Nothing I could do but listen for his yelp.
I’ll never forget the cruel, cruel sea,
Pushing him under, taking with it part of me.
“Peter! ” I’d cried, but to no avail.
The last thing I heard was the smallest of wails.
This is the story of how the water took my baby away.
I think of him all the time. He’d be nine-teen today.