Poem:

In dark Africa, a child,

Knowing not its plight of birth, 

Feels regrettably beguiled

By the vagaries of Earth.

His frail head is gently pressed,

There beneath the sky pale blue,

Cold against his mother’s breast,

As she knows not what to do;

So, she turns to him, her man,

Touching feelingly his hand,

While her face is drawn and wan,

And she doesn’t understand

Why their precious child is dying

Slowly in their motherland;

Are the leaders even trying

To extend a helping hand?

There are rumors help is coming

From some country far away,

While they hear a constant humming,

It should come another day.

But the will of death grows stronger,

And oppressively holds sway,

Tarrying not a minute longer,

As it takes their child away.