No rain. A drought. And now two years have passed.
Three days desperate trek to save their souls.
They arrive exhausted by their long haul
And queue at camp with humanity's mass.
Now, set free from his mother's hold he gasps
As precious, sunlit, jewel-like droplets fall,
Poured into the makeshift, clenched plastic bowl.
Life giving water, his thirst quenched at last!
Look at this child. What does his future hold?
His basic needs are met just for one day.
Will he ever get the chance to grow old
And let wise opinions have their say?
Or, tired and hungry, lie in his mother's folds
Allowing death to steal his life away.
Maureen Pickford's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (African Boy by Maureen Pickford )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
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