Lonesome is a poem by the late
Alice Hansche Mortenson
(Written after the death of her five-year-old son decades ago.)
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Alice Hansche Mortenson was a friend of mine even though we were separated by five decades. A sweet and kind elderly woman who, for some unknown reason, took an interest in my writing career when I was in my twenties. I share this poem here because she was “acquainted with grief,” having lost her first husband early in their marriage and later, her five-year-old son. Yet, her faith carried her, and many who knew her, forward.
I’m lonesome for a little boy,
A little boy of five,
Who used to live at this address
So very much alive.
I miss his scooter on the walk,
His playthings in the hall;
And, yes, I miss the fingerprints
He made upon the wall.
I miss his kiss upon my cheek,
His fingers in my hair,
And long to hear just one more time
His gentle good-night prayer.
I never knew before he came
How such a thing could be,
But now it seems on every turn
I hear him calling me.
Photo by Ramin Talib on Unsplash.com