The poem
As a drenched, drowned bee Hangs numb and heavy from a bending flower, So clings to me My baby, her brown hair brushed with wet tears And laid against her cheek; Her soft white legs hanging heavily over my arm Swinging heavily to my movements as I walk. My sleeping baby hangs upon my life, Like a burden she hangs on me. She has always seemed so light, But now she is wet with tears and numb with pain Even her floating hair sinks heavily, Reaching downwards; As the wings of a drenched, drowned bee Are a heaviness, and a weariness.
I intend to read thia poem at a men's grooup meeting in two weeks. We have talked about fathers and mothers, and it is timely to have this poem, at least, to use as we talk about sons and daughters.
A baby dies everyday but i wish my cousin didn't
The blessing of having a child is equaled only by the grief of losing one.