Promises

golden light of a misty morn
filters through gaping cracks
illuminating the child newly born,
birthed on hessian sacks

furnishings of crates and planks;
a floor of hard-packed dung,
nothing to eat, nor money in banks,
yet a sweet lullaby is sung

the mother, but a child just past,
suckles her babe at breast;
grateful her pain is over at last
she sings to her son at rest

voice sweet as rippling streams
sings of the life he’ll live;
tells of hope, of love, of dreams
and all the things she’ll give

she promises a life of plenty;
education will pave his way;
forgetting her purse is empty
she swears to a better day

blazing sun of a summer’s day
bakes down on crude wooden shack
an old woman dies all alone -
cultured son never looked back

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