Although a good long cry at the end of a great, deserving book can be a cathartic and wonderful experience for me, I don't like getting teary-eyed over poems. Poems can be emotionally devastating or so beautiful they physically make you hurt, but they can't pull of the kind of sentiment that novels or memoirs allow. I like poems that are as intellectually satisfying as they are emotionally satisfying. This poem is the exception. When I ran across it at the Writer's Almanac site, I was surprised to find myself getting worked up at the end. It's such a sad poem and for anyone whose ever seen a situation like this, it really hits close to home. I wish it were a little more stimulating and that the language was a little deeper, but I can't argue with the sentiment here. Enjoy!
The Guardian, by Joseph Mills