Waif

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  • Childhood

    Waif

     My mother often told the tale of waif,
    she heard loud cry as she passing by.
    Under a bridge, deep in the bush,
    she found a baby that was I.
    She picked me up,
    kindly took me home,
    raised me as her own.
    I never felt at home.
    Who am I?

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    Poetry is what is lost in translation.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    susanthewinner’s Poems (30)

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    Red Rock Canyon 2 07/08/2009
    Curse 2 07/02/2009
    I want to say good-bye when you die 4 06/23/2009
    Kiss 1 07/06/2009
    Waif 0 06/06/2009
    Oh, Baby! 1 06/21/2009
    Marilyn 0 07/03/2009
    Winter Kill 2 07/06/2009
    Silent Murder 0 07/20/2009
    Windowless Prison 4 07/06/2009
    Drunken Bride 5 07/06/2009
    Lonely House on Top of the Hill 3 05/29/2009
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