The Secret Tear

In hush of night where shadows dwell,

A wounded heart bore grief too well.

No gentle hand, no tender breath,

But silence, cold, as deep as death.

The world would mock with careless tongue,

Blind to the songs I left unsung.

They could not know the ache I bore,

A mother’s absence, felt evermore.

They said, “You see, your eyes are clear,”

Yet none beheld my secret tear.

A child who yearned for soft embrace,

Yet found but echoes in her place.

Where children’s laughter filled the air,

I stood apart in mute despair.

Their joy—a flame I could not claim,

For want of love none else could name.

Through endless nights of solemn prayer,

I sought her face, though not found there.

And when the stars gave no reply,

I vowed my love would not yet die.

So with my heart, though scarred, I chose,

To plant where barren sorrow grows.

Not blood, but vow shall bind anew—

A mother gained by love most true.

Who dares to judge the heart’s command,

Or weigh what grace God’s hand has planned?

For in the void where loss once reigned,

A nobler, brighter love is gained.

Thus from the dark, a dawn shall rise,

With softer light in weeping eyes.

And what was lost, through choice restored—

A mother’s love, my soul’s reward.