top of page
This is a Members Area - To Sign In or Join, please click top right.

Inspirational Poems About The Death Of A Child.

Losing a child is an unimaginable pain that no parent should ever have to endure. The emotions that follow such a heart-breaking loss are often beyond words, yet poets have found a way to express the depths of this grief through their verses. In the realm of poetry, the themes of loss, sorrow, and longing intertwine to create poignant and evocative pieces that capture the essence of a parent's profound loss. Through the power of language and emotion, these poems serve as a cathartic outlet for both the poets and readers, offering solace and understanding in the face of such profound tragedy.

“The Cord” - by Amy Merrick

We are connected,

My child and I, by

An invisible cord

Not seen by the eye.

It’s not like the cord

That connects us ’til birth

This cord can’t been seen

By any on Earth.

This cord does it’s work

Right from the start.

It binds us together

Attached to my heart.

I know that it’s there

Though no one can see

The invisible cord

From my child to me.

The strength of this cord

Is hard to describe.

It can’t be destroyed

It can’t be denied.

It’s stronger than any cord

Man could create

It withstands the test

Can hold any weight.

And though you are gone,

Though you’re not here with me,

The cord is still there

But no one can see.

It pulls at my heart

I am bruised…I am sore,

But this cord is my lifeline

As never before.

I am thankful that God

Connects us this way

A mother and child

Death can’t take it away!



Excerpt from “My Son” - by Amanda J. Kennedy

When I sink down,

No fight left, I drown.

Darkness gathers around.

I feel nothing, I make no sound.

Then the pain crashes, hits my heart.

Unexplainable feelings tear me apart.

Like an internal explosion,

I am overwhelmed with emotion.

To share is too hard.

I am wounded, beaten, and scarred.

My pain is mine and personal to me,

Never ending grief you cannot see.



“The Little White Hearse” - by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Somebody’s baby was buried to-day—

The empty white hearse from the grave rumbled back,

And the morning somehow seemed less smiling and gay

As I paused on the walk while it crossed on its way,

And a shadow seemed drawn o’er the sun’s golden track.

Somebody’s baby was laid out to rest,

White as a snowdrop, and fair to behold,

And the soft little hands were crossed over the breast,

And those hands and the lips and the eyelids were pressed

With kisses as hot as the eyelids were cold.

Somebody saw it go out of her sight,

Under the coffin lid—out through the door;

Somebody finds only darkness and blight

All through the glory of summer-sun light;

Somebody’s baby will waken no more.

Somebody’s sorrow is making me weep:

I know not her name, but I echo her cry,

For the dearly bought baby she longed so to keep,

The baby that rode to its long-lasting sleep

In the little white hearse that went rumbling by.

I know not her name, but her sorrow I know;

While I paused on the crossing I lived it once more,

And back to my heart surged that river of woe

That but in the breast of a mother can flow;

For the little white hearse has been, too, at my door.



Excerpt from “When Great Trees Fall” - by Maya Angelou

And when great souls die,

after a period peace blooms,

slowly and always

irregularly. Spaces fill

with a kind of

soothing electric vibration.

Our senses, restored, never

to be the same, whisper to us.

They existed. They existed.

We can be. Be and be

better. For they existed.



“A Child of Mine” - by Edgar Guest

I will lend you, for a little time,

A child of mine, He said.

For you to love the while he lives,

And mourn for when he’s dead.

It may be six or seven years,

Or twenty-two or three.

But will you, till I call him back,

Take care of him for Me?

He’ll bring his charms to gladden you,

And should his stay be brief.

You’ll have his lovely memories,

As solace for your grief.

I cannot promise he will stay,

Since all from earth return.

But there are lessons taught down there,

I want this child to learn.

I’ve looked the wide world over,

In search for teachers true.

And from the throngs that crowd life’s lanes,

I have selected you.

Now will you give him all your love,

Nor think the labour vain.

Nor hate me when I come

To take him home again?

I fancied that I heard them say,

‘Dear Lord, Thy will be done!’

For all the joys Thy child shall bring,

The risk of grief we’ll run.

We’ll shelter him with tenderness,

We’ll love him while we may,

And for the happiness we’ve known,

Forever grateful stay.

But should the angels call for him,

Much sooner than we’ve planned.

We’ll brave the bitter grief that comes,

And try to understand.



bottom of page