It's Christmas time for some. Let's leave such things alone.
Newsrooms hawk selective truths - mindful of the times.
Not so, for the mother who rocks in the dark, Reviewing the shoulds and the coulds. There is nowhere to hide, from the agony inside From the thoughts of her boy's last gasp. There is no escape from the anguish - the hate From the questions, the blood or the dread. Perhaps the ache that won't be nursed, could be erased instead. Just one more soulless crime.