I want to turn the clock back; to before you went away,
To get the chance to tell you, and beg of you to stay.
I want to turn the clock, to face against the wall
To hope that the sickle, this time, fails to fall.
I would cradle your tiny body and together we would sleep,
Beneath the comfy blanket with booties on your feet.
You would recognise me by the noises that I make,
The songs I’d be singing while I baked for you a cake.
The house would fill with laughter as I introduced to you,
A sister and two brothers, who would be in love with you.
They’d fight to let me hold you, and smother you in love,
You would have fitted in the family, like a hand into a glove.
But clocks don’t go backwards, time refuses to stand still,
Mothers can’t make it happen, we haven’t got free will.
If we did, we would have held you and never let you go,
But you got taken to a corner, of time we’ve yet to know.
The sun keeps on shining, as does the falling rain,
The sunflowers still blossom, though not the same.
Growing up a family, with your missing name,
Like gazing at a sunflower through a broken pane.
© 2016, Ellen Best. All rights reserved.
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