Her heart was never broken
By the grief, by the mourning
In which she was woken
With its light so unrelenting.
If death is absolute, she said,
Then so must be the memory.
Loyal to my little one
Will I forever be.
Even when the light retreats
And my eyes are forced to sleep
In dreams I will be weeping,
And the lamp I will keep lit.
Her passion for her children
Was never one to wane
To her love there was no equal
And no equal to her pain.
But her heart remains unbroken
Alone in her anatomies
Strong as branches oaken
Are her loving arteries.