Sweetness as fine

Could I have ever,

not loved you?

With your sweetness to me,

so fine?

Grief is a ritual 

hanging outside my balance.

Motherhood, unforeseen to hope,

makes me old as time.

If hope,

is a thing with feathers,

My love for my lost son,

is utmost devine.

A thing with feathers,

A darkness unknown.

Take me today,

or take me tomorrow.

For I am ‘ever unknown,

as motherhood is

as old as time.