Small Wounds Poem by William Coyne

Easily small fingers in mother's hand
loosen when appearing on the stand,
in market places colorful and bright,
toys designed to draw a child's naive sight.

Mother is now seen as the evil queen
who denies wanted joy for new toys seen.
Amidst the pleas and cries, 'I want! I want! '
she sadly answers, 'No, dear, we can't! '

Gathering dark clouds hurriedly descend
on the child's spirit and puts an end
to hope, wipes the smile from its sad face,
leaves a wounded heart in its place.

Wise mothers know that breaks come frequently
and mend easy when not cut deeply,
offer a candy or an ice cream cone
to heal the wound, leave the hurt alone.

And then the child learns it may not always
get all it wants all the time today,
but is reassured by a descending dove,
it always has its sweet mother's love.