My Poetry: For Billy Boy

I wrote this poem after Billy Boy was stillborn.  He was actually Sheri's second pregnancy, the first ending in miscarriage.

For Billy Boy

The baby's gone,
But gone to where?
The baby's gone
He is not here.

And so I grope
As a bungling fool
There is no hope,
Night time is the rule.

We sleep too soundly
For we have no cares,
Our lives too roundly
For no one's there.

The cradle board is empty
Our genes no alive.
The baby doesn't see,
Cry, eat, slobber or thrive.

They say the baby rests
In the ground where laid,
But the words don't arrest;
My longings just don't fade.

And damn I say
Inside my heart,
Didn't I pay?
Then why this part?

Why must I play the role
Of a grieving father, almost?
Being a father was my goal
And for now it's turned to rust.

And so we say,
"We'll try again."
But how much must we pay?
Eleven months of pregnancy...
And so much pain.
There she sweat, labor intense
The pain, Oh God, the pain.
The baby's cry, a sweet incense
I can't hear, though I crave.

And still the tears,
Still the lump in my heart
That day full of anxiety and fears
In my life, just won't depart.

And still I grope
Like a bungling fool
Where is there hope?
It seems night time is the rule.

A picture of Billy Boy's Body
http://whilhelmsthoughts.blogspot.com/2013/02/billy-boy-wardle.html