The hand that rocks the cradle

The Winter’s air cannot chill you love,
For you were born to me
So bear the cold, till days improve
Wait, wait patiently.

My arms are weak from daily toil
Yet rest is forbidden now.
From labour and sweat I cannot recoil
For I must see you grow.

So lie under this tree, where I can watch
While I carry these bricks and sand.
I’ll wrap you in rags or a cold you’ll catch
Hush! don’t cry, for I’m near at hand.

Perhaps the future will be more benign
Perhaps our sweat will speak
And our lives will be free from hunger and pain
Till then your patience keep.

Till then, dear child, brave this chilly wind
Leaving you now,  I must go.
Against whom or how, we have sinned
I just can’t fathom now.

Doomed am I to this fate
But you must grow and discern
Why some have delicacies heaped on their plates
While some for bread crumbs yearn.

~ Nadira

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