25th November 1999
In their prosaic, tactless way,
That her lineage ends with her,
No children is her womb to bear,
I wonder if they care.
My wife told me the news today,
She battled through her tears to say,
'My tubes are blocked,' then closed her eyes,
To push away the inward cries,
To ask the question, 'Why?'
A fruitless tree's an emptiness
That reaches out for God to bless.
Father time may stop the rain,
He'll dry the tears and crush the pain,
But the longing will remain.