I didn't write this poem, but it was in one of the pamphlets that they gave us at the hospital about miscarriage. Most of the information just went in one ear and out the other, but this stuck with me and I know I'll refer back to it whenever I'm having a bad day.
I wonder, oh I wonder,
where the little faces go.
That come and smile and stay awhile,
and pass like flakes of snow.
The dear, wee baby faces that
the world has never known.
But mothers hide, so tender-eyed
deep in their hearts alone.
I love to think that somewhere,
in the country we call heaven,
the land most fair of anywhere,
will unto them be given.
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