Title: Fickle Winds of Fortune
I take solace in my last words to him,
Though his life had just begun.
Although life without him's so very dim,
There is naught that can be done.
When swirling winds and blackened clouds run,
And all grows so very dark,
And rent from our arms is the small sun,
Your life begins to feel stark.
I would at night sing to him like a lark,
And his frail body cover.
How with irony this dark heart will bark;
I'm a motherless mother.
I wish he were here for me to smother,
To feel that heavenly joy.
But god has snatched him and left no other,
Oh such a treacherous ploy.
The lives which tempestuous winds destroy,
crying hearts will never shun.
What last words did I lend my dead boy?
"I'll see you soon my son."