For two and the sixth,
You came to me on that auspicious day,
Nine months, they said,and nine you stayed
In the last three you warned,'I'm almost here'.
I thought I had you say,
And to think I went to work that day,
Avoiding all heed to your soon escape.

My son, I fear I worked too hard
I fed you too little to none
I was selfish, I fed only me, only once,
I worried for your arrival
That you would come not in linen and silk,
But as a child of a pauper,hooded with penury
as you graced the earth.

I remember your curious eyes and tiny hands
Clasped tight unwilling to salute
The condensending fate of your birth,
I remember your loud cries
When I lost my last job ridiculed for having you
They said a burden you'll be,that I had made a mistake.
That night was awfully gelid,
I wrapped you in the embrace of rugs old
And as our eyes met, I Whispered tremulously,
'I love you, my SON'.

© Maria.M.M