Monday, November 22, 2010



This is dedicated to you
acrylic paint on canvas by Robert Margetts

In the most tender hour a life was born

given to a poor woman with nothing to give.
Poor and decrepit
old and ugly.
No family to help, no friends to beg,
each day a struggle to survive
She stole for food,
wrapped him in paper
fed him from dirty needles
and bathed him in the sewer waters

And he was happy
for he knew nothing of greed nor prejudice.
He knew only of the kind face that loved him.

And she too was happy
for someone did love her
and cared not about her wealth

For three years a boy learned
to crawl, walk, google, and talk.
He learned love and pain
hunger and thirst
coldness and wetness

And for three years she did learn
what it meant to have nothing but to give everything,
to see pain in the eyes of a child
and to know that you were solely to blame

In the cold Winter of 1987
the baby fell ill.
His screams of pain pounded in her bones
as she begged for help upon deaf ears.
He who had so much would give nothing
and she with child looked the other way.

And one night the old lady crouched
down in a puddle of slush,
lay the young lad upon the blanket of snow.
And with a kiss on his cheek
and a pat on his head,
tears trickled from her eyes
as the baby lay dead.

And for the first time in her life, the old lady
really understood pain
and she cried, and cried.

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