Her motives are unclear

She took our son so dear

Stole life's most precious gift

and now he'll be adrift

There’ll be no sewing of his seed

because the wretch cannot breed

She beguiled him with a look

but underneath she is a crook

Her barren land, a dry plant that cannot grow

When our son is old he’ll have nothing to show

That he was a man of great importance, loved by many

and not just ordinary

Yet they cannot see her scars

from dreams that were torn apart

Each day she puts on her mask

but she may confide if you ask

About moments with her imaginary child

How others watched them together and smiled

And stood before her in awe

of the deep love and mothering they saw

Daydreams that must always end

For she cannot live in pretend

But deal with the cruel reality of her present

and the deconstruction of her being she resents

After all is said and done

She is not a mother, she is no one

Her journey has taken her far

The child she grieves for is her

ANON