She Sold Her Baby Poem by Reginald Goodridge

They judged her with anger.
Spat on her humanity.
Called her vulgar things.
Questioned her sanity.

And she took it all,
crept, crawled to a corner.
Understood their laws,
deflected their blows to her.

Why she did it?
You can only imagine.
The frustration, juxtaposition
of a refugees passion.

To be free;
not running from rebels,
not shakeled by gunshots,
not subject to hungry devils.

The opportunity,
a promise of hope;
that her illigitimate child
could be unaware of war's yoke

Don't judge her.
Just love her.
She sold her baby,
to escape bloody massacre.