Brave is The Child ; a poem

Pictorial representation of the poem by author

A shiny marble tile

feels sandy underneath the lustre

A smile could meet the eye

and miss the heart

Tentative one stands

to the cry of chaos

Should voices arise in a quarrel,

a mediator’s gift might be a need

The folks with a child,

their love may loose and grey gain

So the child is left on edge

with hate lurking, his eyes are set

To avoid a slander of the pair

by their lips or hands

And drifts later to bed

a burden at heart, sore in the brain, and wet on the pillow

Not a pal in sight to come plain

And when day comes

a strut he makes his pace

with smile -agony's shield