Fifteen Grams.

Cake.
Cake, please.
Sometimes the short journey from cradle to tomb
Isn't that long a stay.
Fifteen grams of sweet dreams
Gone so fast.
Fifteen grams of hope.
Of healing.
Of salvation all wrapped in plastic, now.
Labeled.
Lost.
So many firsts that just won't be.
So many joyful moments- too rare in this strange and terrible life-
Hold fast to your tiny ones,
Count their toes with your blessings.
Sigh relief with your frustrations, mothers.
Fathers, stand fast your watch over sleeping heads.
Sometimes our dreams slip aching and howling silent through our fingers.
Sometimes all we are left with
Is a dry and lonely slice of cake.