A Birthmother's Christmas

It's Christmas time, the gifts are wrapped,

And piled beneath the tree,

Yet every year there's an absence,

That is only felt by me.

I prepare the table for the feast,

And bow my head in prayer,

I try my best to hide my grief,

For the child that is not there.

We raise our glasses for a toast,

To family and to friends,

But all that I am wishing for,

Is to hold you once again.

So amidst the Christmas joy,

Is an emptiness I bear,

An ever present heartache

For the child that is not there.

And when I see my children laugh,

With that twinkle in their eyes,

I cannot help but wonder,

If you think of me sometimes.

And when the day comes to an end,

No grief can quite compare,

To another Christmas yearning

For the child that is not there.

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