Humpty Dumpty

As gloves steal 
his hands, 
we talk official 
with the gowns, 
   
and they don't know
we are hiding 
tears in our purses,
   
nor his shame; 
Once the saddle of cowards. 
   
They don't see 
dust on his bricks 
left by 
our childhood kiss 
   
and their sorrow 
is mapped 
only by cracks 
in his armour.
   
'Twas their checkered song 
that blew him 
to the wind 
of ten years, 
   
and we hold tight 
to his head 
at the bedside: 
   
For this is the last 
of the remaining parents. 
   
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