My Empty Room

There is my drawing desk
Marked up, but bare;
And there, my pink dresser
With closed, empty drawers;
There is my horsey
That I would ride upon
Standing alone by the wall.
And there are the curtains
All faded and still;
Here is my teddy
With dull, forlorn eyes.
Here is my bed,
The blankets smoothly folded
With meticulous care.

Here comes my mother,
As she has every day.
She kneels by my bed
With a small picture frame
In her slender, white hands,
And Father soon finds her
And kneels by her side.
I would that she’d smile
But one more time,
And that he
Would cease to grieve.
I would that they’d remember
That brief, happy life of mine,
And that now I rest in peace.