I Did Not Mean This For You

My dear child I did not mean this for you,
This world of hunger and suffering, if I only knew.
I hear your fragile voice cry out in the night,
I see you grow weaker by the day, as your losing the fight.
You sleep on cold ground, I could not afford your bed,
so you will sleep in my arms, I will cradle your head.

My dear child I did not mean this for you,
Dying at such a young age, still a baby, never grew,
Your tiny tombstone, a cheap peace of board,

With no money or help it was all I could afford.
Smiling down at your shallow grave, it took all the strength I could
So I cried and cried and cried and cried
My angel of only 8 months had died.



I wrote this poem about 3 years ago, for a creative writing class in college. I had just found it, so I posted it.

I seriously think something has to be done about the pain, suffering, and death that goes on all over the world. Post any suggestions and comment about the poem.