image via ISpyNYC
That moment when the sharp rays of the morning sun
Splash onto your face.
A time to let it seep into your exhausted skin,
Wake up the sleepy freckles resting on your cheeks.
Every year on your birthday, your mother, looking at you sentimentally,
Almost shedding a single, lone tear,
Recalls the day you were born:
A cold day in January,
she says that you stared directly into her eyes.
All you wanted was to be lying in her arms, snuggling in what seemed natural.
Has anything really changed?
That moment when the sky becomes a painting
Filled with swirling clouds, creeping up in front of the sun, dimming the brightness on your freshened face.
The grayness drips back into your complexion,
Revealing the reflection of a lost child.
Things Hannah Writes 
I feel sentimental when reading this. A mother’s love for her child…”has anything really changed”…Love it.
Once again, love this poem! It is so sad, in a lost hopeless way. I interpreted it as s mother recollecting the memories of her child only to come to reality and find that her child is in fact dead. Your way of starting the poem as a sunrise (hopeful-a new beginning) and ending as it transforming to a grey cloudy painting is genius. DO NOT change that. More comments coming tomorrow 🙂