About the Poem
Once a child has died, a mother is left with an empty longing for that child, for the rest of her life. I wrote this one night, during the last Christmas holidays, though my daughter has been gone for years. My memories of her are as clear as color video clips, complete with sound.
The Children's Christmas
|by Rosemary J. Gwaltney|
|The children's Christmas is simple and bright
They sing the music, they laugh in the light,
Sparkling colors are a magical spell,
Their instant joy flows bubbling and well.
But round that tree I see a space,
Beside the table an empty place,
A voice is missing, a form of grace,
The sweetness of a little lost face.
A vacuum was left by the child who's gone;
Though all seems right, yet it's terribly wrong.
I'd give up my Christmas, and gaiety fine,
To clasp that small hand again in mine.