Untitled Poem
Two cradles, alike in size and shape
Made just before it was too late
One wooden, built of a solemn stump alone
The other made of hard, cold stone
The cradles unbearable and stiff,
The children may sleep only if
Those who love them give
Love and say they’ll try their best to help them live
For the early years bring bruises that threaten to never heal
But something soft and supporting brings a kinder feel