Her breaths became shorter as seconds ticked by,
She knew she was dying, but she desperately tried
To flail and to kick in the ocean so strong,
But freezing, cruel waves just tossed her along.
The ship had sunken two hours before,
Hundreds of people lie on the sea floor.
She’d heard the roar of shrill, haunting cries
But now there was silence; the noise had all died.
Only a wail of a voice so sweet
So young, so helpless, but unready for defeat.
Her crying young child was clutched to her side,
Growing weaker and weaker, unwilling to die.
A sharp, bitter wind cut into her eyes,
But nothing mattered more: her boy must survive.
She scanned her surroundings, panting with cold,
Shivering, shaking, but determinedly bold.
Nearby, floating in the vastness of sea,
Was a small, splintered crate, perfect as could be.
She gently took her frail, wailing son
And suppressed a sob, for the tears had begun.
Her shaking hands lowered him into the crate,
Praying and hoping for his future and fate.
She thought of the nights where she’d sung him to sleep,
And breakfasts of waffles and berries to eat,
His laughter and happiness, day after day,
And kneeling beside him before bed to pray.
She thought of these things and looked to sky
Her son now had hope, so she closed her eyes…
Thirty years later, her little boy stood
A strong, healthy man, who now understood
The sacrifice and love that his mother gave
As he silently stood by her small, simple grave.
He thought of the nights where she’d sung him to sleep,
And breakfasts of waffles and berries to eat,
Her laughter and happiness, day after day,
And kneeling beside her before bed to pray.
He thought of these things and looked to the sky,
And realized her love for him would never die.