Mourn for Infant Son
“I am forty nine,
I lost my infant son while traveling.
My infant son is no doubt my child, with brows like mine…………
At my old age, joy is rare,
I rely on him for laughs and joy;
suddenly he was taken away………….
We could not but wrap him with cloth and firewood according to customs,
in no time he turned to ashes.
Coming home with empty arms,
my elderly tears poured like water slides.
My tears could be wiped and
memories would fade as days go by.
I could not bear to hear
the weeping mother
and her wanting to die with him.
His clothes hanging on the rack
as milk overflowed
from her breast to the bed.”