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Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #2281348
So, moving.


I am your child
mother of six
why did you sell me?
for a fix

I am your child
father in the crowd
why did you do?
what was not allowed

I am your child
American born
hungry and crying
tattered and worn

I am your child
let freedom ring
take me home
where angels sing
© Copyright 2022 Penelope Moonbeam (inkydinky33 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2281348-YOUR-CHILD