The child, in mourning, weeps for those long gone,
For ancestors whose voices fade away,
Whose stories die upon a dying tongue,
And wisdom buried deep in shadowed clay.
A broken mosaic scattered on the earth,
And in the soul a hollow, aching space.
I gaze upon this sorrowed child in pain,
And feel the weight of helplessness upon me.
What can I do? How can the wound be healed,
That time and grief have carved so deep within?
I call upon the spirits of the past,
And they, like winds, come swift to ease my mind.
The creatures of the strength and ancient wild,
The dog and hare, bring warmth to frozen heart,
And still the aching cry that rends the night.

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A Child’s Perspective on grief

• storytelling