Maybe Tomorrow

She had to give her child away,
Only she, knew the circumstances,
Her heart, turning into clay,
As every new day advances.
The hurt becoming so acute,
How could she live this way,
Guilt was gradually taking root,
And nothing one could say,
Would take away the sorrow,
Would take away the pain,
Of wishing that maybe tomorrow,
She could hold her child again.

poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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