To My Unborn Child Poem by Leonard Ninwie

To My Unborn Child



You are the trophy of love, our love and I
Rode you on my strong shoulders to school
I sucked your nose until the day you wore a beard
I love you and your mother more than anything
I grew up in mud and the shackles of poverty
Your grandpa was a noble old school teacher who
Wanted his son to become a doctor but poverty
And death robbed us both of our dreams then
I swore to his soul that my dearest child would
Win the battle I lost because it was only fair

But I am deeply sorry I denied your spirit the burden of mortality so
Sorry I died with you and it was not my sin but death murdered us both
I was lost in the folly of that world fighting death with alcohol and smoke
So busy that when he knocked on the door for his price, your mother was
By my side, she never left that spot yet death did not give me the rare
Privilege to give you the gift of a father. He took me before you could
Be conceived. I pray in humility wherever my arrogance has blown me
That the powers give you mortality to console your briefed mother, my widow
And I would carry you in my arms some distant day soon when the gates of
Reincarnation finally gives us our chance to be together and die together.

I love you my unborn son.

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Leonard Ninwie

Leonard Ninwie

Jirapa, Ghana
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