Rose Petals or Stones
The little girl’s lost in rose petals.
Like snowflakes falling gracefully all around,
Way above her head she tosses them.
As she turns around and around, trying to catch
Each one as some slither through her fingers
Just before falling on the ground.
Least does she knows that there was another child.
Who unlike herself, does not know the beauty
The aroma of a rose or a flower, she too plays alone.
Her bare trodden feet daily walk down a dirty path,
With a pail, that sits on her head as water drips down.
On her face, a smile can be seen, as each flat stones
That slips through her toes, she counts.
Then there is another scene of a child whose mother
Arms are wrapped around her, a little too tight.
Awaken in the middle of the night by the sound
Of bullets, a sign that the gun fight has gotten close.
With only the will to live and survive, she flees
And carries her child, who will then live to tell
The tale of how many rounds missed them that time.
It is astounding how small fingers are at the beginning of life.
And even toes as they grow are not obvious to our eyes.
How soft they can be until inflicted by human tragedy.
The lack of suitable shoes and clothes, clean water to drink
All affect the quality of life and the way they mature and respond to life.
Yet even the poorest or the poor does not always display hostility.
And can be quite happy, until others decide they must change.
Or if the tyrants of this world oppresses them for their own selfish gain.
So whether, rose petals or stones as far as innocence go, it is what they know.
Should never be stray bullets that they get to count or tell about.
I once did training with Living water International. My goal was to help teach proper hygiene and nutrition, in countries they help provide clean water. I did this some time after I was married and had children. I sincerely could not go on this mission knowing, I had children of my own that needed me, even though, this is what I longed to do with my life. So for the sake of my family, I buried these desires.
Living Water International
Visit ruthspoetry.rahtimes.com/ for more on the Author.
Like snowflakes falling gracefully all around,
Way above her head she tosses them.
As she turns around and around, trying to catch
Each one as some slither through her fingers
Just before falling on the ground.
Least does she knows that there was another child.
Who unlike herself, does not know the beauty
The aroma of a rose or a flower, she too plays alone.
Her bare trodden feet daily walk down a dirty path,
With a pail, that sits on her head as water drips down.
On her face, a smile can be seen, as each flat stones
That slips through her toes, she counts.
Then there is another scene of a child whose mother
Arms are wrapped around her, a little too tight.
Awaken in the middle of the night by the sound
Of bullets, a sign that the gun fight has gotten close.
With only the will to live and survive, she flees
And carries her child, who will then live to tell
The tale of how many rounds missed them that time.
It is astounding how small fingers are at the beginning of life.
And even toes as they grow are not obvious to our eyes.
How soft they can be until inflicted by human tragedy.
The lack of suitable shoes and clothes, clean water to drink
All affect the quality of life and the way they mature and respond to life.
Yet even the poorest or the poor does not always display hostility.
And can be quite happy, until others decide they must change.
Or if the tyrants of this world oppresses them for their own selfish gain.
So whether, rose petals or stones as far as innocence go, it is what they know.
Should never be stray bullets that they get to count or tell about.
I once did training with Living water International. My goal was to help teach proper hygiene and nutrition, in countries they help provide clean water. I did this some time after I was married and had children. I sincerely could not go on this mission knowing, I had children of my own that needed me, even though, this is what I longed to do with my life. So for the sake of my family, I buried these desires.
Living Water International
Visit ruthspoetry.rahtimes.com/ for more on the Author.
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