For the last three evenings I had passed by the old timbered house.
Each night a young woman was sitting out on the porch slowly rocking back and forth.
In soft tones she serenaded the babe clutched lovingly to her breast.
Despite my friendly hail, she never answered. Her downcast eyes fixed on the bundle in her arms.
I thought, I should introduce myself.
“Good evening ma’am, that’s a beautiful song, a lullaby for a beautiful baby.”
Smiling she opened the blanket and to my horror I found myself looking at the shrivelled face of a long dead infant.