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It all comes back to me down the ages, A child awake listening to the tick of a clock. My troubled mind my fitful rages, The sound of a key turning in a lock. Twenty boys in a dormitory large, Beds neatly arranged in rows. A woman vicious and in charge, Dealing out deftly savage blows. Tears running silently down my cheeks, No peace for an unhappy mind. Terror that lasted unending weeks, With never a word that was kind. From the age of three until I was eight, Violence ruled my unhappy days. I was ever in a stage of hate, With my mind turning in a terrible craze. I was classified as a troublemaker, Me a child mental grim and upset. Some one to love me there was no taker, I was not the young boy to pet. At the age of nine war was declared, I was evacuated to a peaceful town. For a family life I was not prepared, And my hatred let me once more down. I was placed with families that were kind, My upbringing had left me suspicious. I could not regain my peace of mind, So I remained a child quite vicious. Then came the day that I was kindly received, Made welcome in a family that was normal. It was here that I finally perceived, That love was something not formal. I settled down at last my mind at rest, I enjoyed the privilege of having a home. Here in this family I gave of my best, I had found that love is not just foam.
Bernard Shaw
Read poems about / on: family, child, peace, running, hate, war, woman, home, love, children, memory, women
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