I held his heart in my hands
In pieces shattered, a broken land.
“Can you fix it?” he’d asked
While I stared at the impossible task.
“I’ll do what I can,” I said,
Placing a kiss on his forehead.
I sat and pondered and tried to start
But how best to mend his broken heart?
With needle and thread to keep it together?
Not glue; too weak for changes in weather…
Metal would give it strength,
But time and rust would wear its length.
So I thought and then thought some more
Until the answer came as if called for.
I began putting the pieces back one by one,
Working throughout the daytime sun
And on through the darkening night,
Continuing on despite
The pain in my back and bleeding fingertips,
Making sure there’d be no rips.
Then one day I was done,
And I smiled at the war I’d won.
For when you breathed life into their chests
You knew, for them, you’d never rest.
So when my son’s heart was broken
I listened to the words spoken
From my own, and heeded what they’d said,
Then gave him my whole one instead.
And with the love I’ve never denied
I sewed up the pieces of his then closed it inside