Monday, May 19, 2008

A Modern Tragedy

If every child is wanted,
Why was I left to die?
If every man is born free,
Why wasn't I freely born?

And yet I see my mother,
In a dark and dreary room,
Sitting by a window gazing out
On children playing in the street
And when she weeps to think of me
I wipe her tears away.

At night I see her dreaming
Of sad and dreadful things,
Then walks she unto the bed,
Where would I have lain,
And there she sits quietly
Weeping out her pain.

Now I stand beside her
And wipe away her tears
And now I know I'm wanted,
When I see my mother cry.