The Dying Child. A Mother With No Choice Poem by alan brown

The long grass gave shelter to the dying child
as her mother walked away.
She had been born a small child with twisted limbs
and no figure of speech
He mother hid her away hoping that the father would not return
but return he did.
He cursed her sole for ever giving birth to this wanton child
His heart was as black as his horse.
The mother kept the child, frightened day after day of discovery.
The child grew quick fed on milk from its fathers cattle, but its limbs grew week
She knew it would never recover and never be as other children.
Reluctantly she took the child into the bush, knowing fair well that it could not survive a day never mind a month without her.
She placed the child in a small clearing she made in the long grass and sat bewildered looking into the child's large brown eyes.
But still knowing the hurt she was about to bestow on the small infant.
Tears rolled down her face constantly as a reminder of her hurt.
But she knew that eventually she would leave the child to the open plains.
She stood for a brief moment watching her child as it smiled She turned to leave as the pain dug deep into her heart.
Never to return.
As the Hyena laughed.