Brigit to the Grieving Mother
my sister
you have tasted bitter herbs
she who you loved sleeps
dead upon your breast
as he who I loved
slept on mine
the whole world knows this torment
the whole world sorrows
with your woe
hold your daughter
till the knife’s edge blunts
bring her to me
her soft limp form
place gently in my hands
go to your people
rebuild your house
let the wounds upon you bleed
until they seal
I will hold her in her sleeping
I will take her to my hidden well
some day
this tiny soul
will live anew
Image: "Mother Weeping for Her Dead Child" by George Minne (1886).
