The shopping trip

As I persue the aisles,
of the local store,
I see things more differently,
than I ever have before.


"Daddy's Little Angel",
the embroidered bibs do read.
But, Daddy's angel is in Heaven,
and bibs she does not need.


She does not need a bottle,
a dress or a toy.
Of buying those things for her,
we shall never know the joy.


There are tiny jars of baby food,
that she will never eat,
And shiny shoes with buckles,
that will never touch her feet.


As the bikes and trikes taunt me,
from high up on the rack,
Tears will break free from my eyes,
if I dare look back.


I run off to the restroom,
to blow my nose and cry.
I wipe my eyes, swallow hard,
and let out a sigh.


I must go face the paper,
college and wide rule,
That my little angel,
will never use in school.


I hurry past the greeting cards,
that the people chose with care,
And I am reminded,
of the holidays we shall not share.


In the checkout line I bow my head,
and heavy is my heart,
For the family right in front of me,
has a newborn in their cart.


Shopping in the local store,
used to be mundane.
Now every aisle's full of items,
which remind me of my pain.


So, quick as I can, I give the cashier,
the money from my purse,
And hurry away from those who don't know my pain,
in this foreignly happy universe.

Thanks Mandri