A simple tune

Heavy and exhausted
She cradled the aching newborn in her arms
Rocking back and forth
Breathing in the silence

She exhaled a shaky melody

Hushaby
Don't you cry
Go to sleepy little baby

The world imploded
History filled her lungs
She choked on memories of her mother's voice
A hand on her back as she drifted into sleep

When you wake
You shall have
All the pretty little horses

With quivered throat and blurred vision
She tried her best to sing like her mother
To hold those memories and not rewrite them
To fully fathom the magnitude of a simple tune
sung to a new life
from one generation to the next

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