Hilda Ada Ralphs
My Child - Poem by Hilda Ada Ralphs
My book of life has many pages
Because we go through many stages.
We see the newly born baby lying there.
Depending on his mothers love and care.
Soon he will gain strength and want to crawl
And tear the paper off the wall.
Then soon he will struggle to the door,
Where he see's things he has never seen before.
He has spent many hour playing with his toys
Now it is time to mix with other girls and boys.
Take him to a school I must
And hand him to a teacher that I trust.
I shed a tear and smiled.
How can I spent the day, with my child,
I hurry up and do my work.
As I keep looking at the clock
My heart is filled with pain
I can not wait until he is home again.
He is home, He has had such fun
Tells me about all the things he has done.
Now he moves from class to class.
It is amazing how quickly the years do pass.
Schooling is over, he still has a lot to learn
Before a decent living he can earn.
If he has to travel far,
He will really need a car,
Off to the school of motoring to take a test for driving
To help him get a decent living.
His driving test he now has passed
He really feels grown up at last
He looks at the pubs and stops to think
When driving I must never drink.
Now he has a very good life
But he thinks he needs a wife
He eye's the girls up and down
There are so many in the town.
At last he see's one that is just right
They linger at her gate that night.
He does not seem to want to wait
So with her he makes a date.
Now he has proposed and so I guess
As they are getting married, she must have said yes.
So the old story starts a new
With luck he will grow old, and join the pensioners queue.
Never grumble about getting old
It's a privilege denied to some, I am told.
If like the baby you are lying there,
There is still some one around to care.
Many people are in a hurry that's true
Hang on remember patience is a virtue.
Comments about My Child by Hilda Ada Ralphs
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You