A Winter Morning Birth
The child that was born into a lower income family was me. You don't know your are poor or at a disadvantage until you grow up later in life.
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pending
- Posted 22 hours, 28 minutes ago
in Baby Poems
It was a cold and frosty morning
in the heart of winter's breath,
when Joe and Thelma readied
for a life they had yet to meet.
The road to town was an hour long,
a ribbon through fields of white,
and this--child number eight--
kicked softly, urging them on.
Excitement hummed like lantern light
inside their weathered car,
for chores still waited back at home,
the farm still pulling at their sleeves.
But some things can't be delayed--
a baby comes when a baby must.
They left the others bundled tight,
small faces pressed to frosted glass,
watching their parents disappear
into the quiet afternoon.
It was a cold and frosty morning
in the heart of winter's breath,
when Joe and Thelma readied
for a life they had yet to meet.
The road to town was an hour long,
a ribbon through fields of white,
and this--child number eight--
kicked softly, urging them on.
Excitement hummed like lantern light
inside their weathered car,
for chores still waited back at home,
the farm still pulling at their sleeves.
But some things can't be delayed--
a baby comes when a baby must.
They left the others bundled tight,
small faces pressed to frosted glass,
watching their parents disappear
into the quiet afternoon.
And then--a boy was born
into a crowded, loving room,
a new voice added to a family
that stretched its arms around scarcity.
They were poor, though children seldom know
the labels adults learn to wear.
Hunger just meant smaller portions,
and love meant sharing anyway.
Only later do you come to understand
the weight your parents carried,
the way a winter morning
can shape a life forever--
born in cold, raised in warmth,
held together by a family
that had little,
yet somehow
always enough love .
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