We mourn

The mother's arms are barren ache
Her child's bed lies cold
She looks inside the empty room
With no one there to hold
Belief of death denies her firm
She wrestles all this truth
No cradled love in child form
Her empty arms cruel proof
How can the world spin right around
while hearts have ceased to sing?
How can tomorrow truly come
after feeling death's great sting?
Should all the earth fall swift away
It would matter not to her
A child is a mother's world
and for death there is no cure.