He built the house for his dear wife,
Pregnant with their first new life.
In grandeur of brick and terracotta red,
Love had crafted a perfect nest.
All was good, but not for long—
She fell into shock, a wrenching labor.
Weeks in the hospital filled with screams,
A miscarriage tore their gentle dream.
Her body weakened, her spirit frayed,
The walls still rose, the home half-made.
She turned away, consumed by grief,
Drifting slowly, succumbing to pain's relief.
At the final streak, she yielded to her fate,
The home now complete, yet desolate.
He turned, forsaking the land for good,
Replaced by pain where smiles once stood.