CRY

A poem

Little hands in a fist,
A little pinkish body covered in slime,
A head full of curly black hair,
A cute little face in a frown,
An umbilical cord still attached,
With beautiful bright eyes wide open,
Why are you not crying?
Your mother is weak,
Do you not want to ease her pain?
Your mother is soaked in sweat,
Her pulse is weak,
Do not let your father weep
For both of you cannot do this
To the man waiting outside that door.

A slap should jolt your mother to life
And a pinch shall do your trick,
Your parents want you,
Stay with us and let them train you.