Mother, you are leaving,
leaving me for lost,
in a small basket outside the baker's shop.
Nurture me and love me, I want you to stay,
even if we have our feuds I want you anyway.
I may be a small baby, but I can understand,
I want to put my hand in yours so we are hand in hand.
Don't leave me here.
The baker is a funny man,
his gaze seems rather tired
his thin grey hair,
his daily wear
his strange white head attire.
His palms are broad and strong as he lifts my resting place,
his gaze holds strong,
but something's wrong,
pity on his face.
He carries me inside his shop,
it smells like yummy things,
honey that runs,
fruity buns,
and cakes with sugar wings.
Is this so bad?
He took me in that fateful day,
for that I admire his heart,
he battled poverty, famine and loss
to keep me from the start.
And now that I am older,
and working my weight each hour,
through rain or hail or shine,
no matter how much flour.
The flour all over my apron which once was black as black,
but I do so love the smells that rise from the bread rack.
One day I will repay you.
You're pale, so pale,
your breath is faint,
your eyes are closed,
your time is coming, and I must wait.
Although you are dying,
your death will send you flying
to meet my mother.
I will never forget you.
I will run the bakery.
I will make something of my life.
I will find my father.
But I broke my promise.
I never repayed you.
YOU ARE READING
Poems. ~I am forever alone + others~
PoetryI wrote some poems inspired by the ways of some very special people, my lovely best friends and the person I will always love, even if he doesn't know that.
