No buggy-pushing for you, my son

It’s done. You’re dead.

26 days we had you

Saw you. Felt you. Touched you.

And I am snake-bitten

Clouded and red

For all crumbles under you.

Shadow-fall

Penumbra: winter tree

Stripped.

Rain-shine on our time

You darling boy. So hard born, I sang.

Now even your blanket-smell has gone.

Nobody mentions you.

Kieran Sean Jack.

What else can I do for you?

No nursery-rhymes.

No golden times.