Mickel Allen

(The Island of The Sun)

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My Child

I felt her cry as she toiled.
The unknown of her belly moved in sync
With the rhythmic methodic of each stroke.
What will become of her?
Being born into a world where hate of this kind abound.

Will she toil as her mother has
Be afflicted and scorned
Taunted and alienated because

[Hata Bildir]