William Roseboro Sr.
Cradle Of Love
Certain death awaits a newborn,
alone on a basement floor.
Softly foot steps fades in the distance,
at the closing of the basement door. Winter's raging just beyond the walls,
a wind ' chill that staggers the Soul.
Shattered windows give no protection,
yet the newborn feels no cold! Little eyes staring at a sight unseen.
It's the brightness of a Golden Rod!
This staff of life warms the newborn,