Winter's Child

Winter's Child

To live a dream, was to have a normal life,
a childhood devoid of any strife.
To live a nightmare, was to be all alone,
starving for love, all skin and bone.

There was a child, who couldn't sleep,
who couldn't dream, who couldn't weep.
She couldn't drink, she couldn't eat,
all she had were her own two feet.

A pretty child, a flower of five,
a miracle that was she was still alive.
She wore rags of poverty, but she had a voice,
her dulcet tones, her livelihood choice.

Her lilting song, unmatched by any other,
but for the love, that comes from a mother.
Her lullabies charmed all those around,
the humming bird's notes, now a tuneless sound.

In her small, dainty hands, she clenched a cup,
she was a child, but she'd already grown up.
Closing her eyes, she would sing with her smile,
and not a person could judge, this sweet little child.

In her cup, the coins started to fall,
as she continued, her melodious call.
At the days end, she counted her earnings,
she needed to satiate her hunger yearnings.

10 dollars within, it was enough to eat,
all she needed was a bit of meat.
She started to walk, she heard a cry,
unlike her song, this voice would die.

As if a duet, another cry pierced the air,
limitless misery, for everyone to share.
She followed the sounds, it was a sight to see,
a boy and his mother, cold and hungry.

She sings for them, quelling their fears,
she kisses them gently, wiping their tears.
She gives them her cup and she goes on her way,
she did not know, who she met today.

Staring at her back, is this mother of one,
as her daughter recedes in the setting sun.
A winter frost, settles that night,
a starving flower, a wilted plight.

In the morning, she is found,
no more song, no more sound.