Sympathy Sayings
A Child’s Grief – Sympathy Poem
Lord you care so much
For the tears of a hurting child
Who has felt the grief of tragedy
Now no longer wears a smile
Unable to clearly express
How much he’s hurting inside
Not fully understanding the pain
Nor knowing the reasons ‘why’
He wants so much to reach out
To someone who will listen
Someone that can hold him close
And respond with godly wisdom
For he just needs a grown up
To know what he’s going through
But often we don’t realize his grief
Because we are hurting too
Let him know you care Lord
And will be there when we’re not
The emptiness he feels within
May be filled with you oh God
May he know you as a father
And know you’re by his side
To come and wipe his tears away
When alone he silently cries
Hold him in your arms Lord
So he will be at peace
Allow us all to give him time
In dealing with his grief
For tears may last all night
But joy comes in the morning
So let him grieve throughout the night
For a new day will be dawning.
(By M.S. Lowndes)
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My Mothers Hair – Child’s Grief Poems
One of your hairs fell out last night:
A piece of your life was gone without a sound.
I know a difficult day is coming,
My heart, pierced, utters a quiet cry.
Let my childhood smile againin the sun
And turn me into an innocent little headlouse
So I can crawl through the jungle of your hair
And sing a song of darkness in its fragrance.
Under your fingernail-roof Ill sleep in my house;
In my black dream Ill water your black trees.
Ill pick black fruits, and hair-jungle bees
Will bring me black poems to be opened.
How will I live, without your hair?
How will I breathe, without its fragrance?
How will I survive, when I am discovered
By ghosts of wooden combs combing your hair?
Let me wear shows made of dawn-flowers
And crawl without a sound into your sleep.
Ill take the place of the hair thats gone
And sing of hair-clouds flying from night to day.
(By Nguyen Quang Thieu)
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My Mother on Her Sickbed – Child’s Grief Poems
My mother on her sickbed with the lightness
and hollowness of a person
Who has already said goodbye at an airport
In the beautiful and quiet area
Between parting and takeoff.
My mother on her sickbed.
All she had in her life is now
Like empty bottles in front of the door
That will show once more with colored labels
What filled them with joy and sadness.
Her last words, Take the flowers out of the room,
She said seven days before her death,
Then she closed herself for seven days,
Like the seven days of mourning.
But even her death created in her room
A warm hominess
With her sleeping face and the cup with its teaspoon
And the towel and the book and the glasses,
And her hand on the blanket, the same
hand that felt my forehead, in childhood.
(By Yehuda Amichai)
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