Scared. So scared; it feels good to be scared.
I saw your tiny fingers rushing through your mother's womb.
I cradled you, but you were lifeless. Then.
Your blood soaked eyes did not see what it was born into.
I closed mine.
I put this on your grave marker:
'Beloved son, my angel. You were loved.'
I placed a wreath on you, as I dropped a flower on your mother's.