Poetry

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A stick horse stands in the corner.
Dusty and warped with age,
A child's book lies on a shelf
With many a torn page

A bed in a room lies empty
The sheets so smooth and free
A heart lies crushed in a body
That heart belongs to me

O, core of my heart, where are you?
My son, where can you be?
O, Merciful Father in heaven,
Please bring my son back to me.

That cold sad day he departed,
He seemed to walk so proud.
He said, "Mom, Please don't worry,
I'll find my silver cloud."

The years have crept by slowly,
Each sun brings a darker day,
O, God, wherever he is,
Be his silver cloud, I pray.

A stick horse stands in a corner,
Dusty and warped with age,
A child's book lies on a shelf
with many a torn page.

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