the woods beneath the
boughs of willows, wailing"
A few simple words in an
appropriate situation can have inordinate influence. A while back, I received a note from a father who just lost his
prematurely born twin daughter to a condition called twin- to- twin transfusion Syndrome. One twin died in utero
and the remaining twin was born at twenty-five weeks, gravely ill and on life support systems in the newborn
intensive care unit. After a brave but futile struggle, she too died. Her father contacted me from England asking if I
could suggest some words to read at the memorial service for his children. I sent these few lines to these bereaved
parents:
Let us not succumb to winter's portent,
the solstice of our darkest hour...
In their reply I learned they will be placing these words upon the headstone of their twin's grave and will be
reading another poem of mine at their memorial service. Needless to say, I was quite humbled by this use of my
poetry. I intend my words to be available to comfort and it may take several if not hundreds of contacts with my
work before they serve such purpose, but when they do, I know that by benefiting just one family, their purpose has
been served. I write each poem to reach one family at a time. By not expecting a multitude of recipients and
acknowledgments, each individual acknowledgment becomes that much more special.
A poem written after my patient endured her third pregnancy loss. I feel this poem
represents a most powerful message which prevails throughout Maternl.
Noelle
A Poem for a Stillborn Child I do not know
Obstare
A Poem reflecting my pain as an Obstetrcian as I delivered a stillborn baby
Let us not succumb to this portent,
The solstice of our darkest hour.
For it is but a finite point
Upon an infinite journey
Which began with all creation and
Upon whose path walk
The souls of our children;
Pure as the silence of the virgin winter,
Alive with winds of indomitable hope
Amare
Forlorn, with tears
And cries, am I.
To lose you to your death
Without but even gasp or sigh,
Save a wisp of Angels breath;
The darkest sorrow
I have known.
Yet, your image burnt in my
Soul is my gift, my grace,
And always will I see your face
Upon the simmer of
Placid ponds
And in the clouds where
Sunbeams hide
And raindrops form,
And I will speak kind words
And write of you
And sing in sweet demure,
In early morning's dew
And in the crown of daffodils
Which bloom amidst the storms
Swept cross my brow,
In every dream
In which it seems
You come to me.
My love forever
Do I avow.
Even strangers from afar know of you
and the aura of your birth,
the darkened hope and hue
of stormy clouds that shadow streaming light,
and know the flawless shards of love
disguised in tear drops crying day and night
one by one, gleaned tears from loving faces
reach towards pinnacles of immortality and
makes us all believe that as the paces
of heart beats breach life itself,
love too ascends, cast heavenly
upon rainbows and shooting stars,
our gifts to comfort for eternity.
And in the longer nights of winter's liar,
your beauty can be seen by all
and in the frozen air where bellowed
breaths of hope inspire.
Though today it lives, a chrysalis,
laced in grief and pain,
one day it will awaken
when winters' snows spur springtime rain,
and fuse sadder thoughts with memories
while distant smiles will bind
eternal love with hope and promise,
even strangers from afar can find.
I have stood here before
When birth deceived and
Surrendered to my hands
The very spirit and soul of humanity;
The essence of life, save life itself .
And I have touched before
The angle hair and silken skin;
A child lay bare, still and silent
In these outstretched hands
As my will cried out
To scream a breath of life
Into pale lips
Now frozen in the mist
Of endless dreams.
Yet today I smile
As I have smiled before,
For from such drear
Comes a voice;
A voice, so serene
That it transforms
The searing pain felt in
Our hearts into song;
Melting stones of sorrow
Into liquors of love,
Forever a memory
Of your dear Child.