The Graves
The graves that are half the size of the others,
Always brings a tear to my eye.
Feeling the pain of the fathers and mothers
I grieve and then I cry.
My soft heart breaks, and I feel their pain,
As their tears fall on the fresh dirt.
Their son is not shining, he’s six feet under,
Just try to imagine their hurt.
They hug each other and cry awhile,
And hold each other tight.
Their baby died, and their lives grew dark,
And their son gave way to night.
The mother drops to her knees on the ground,
The young father follows behind.
Wishing to relive just once again,
The six months their little light shined.
They were driving along on the freeway,
Doing as they always do.
A drunk driver came across the median,
Making them flip a time or two.
The ambulances all came screaming,
Blood was every where,
The drunkard walked away without a scratch,
But little did the drunkard care.
The medics came over with a white sheet,
To cover the small corpse up.
The baby was dead from the sting of death,
He drank from that bitter cup.
The sun set on their six month old,
A little child was killed.
Life is not fair, as we all know.
Because the drunk driver lived.
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