Later perhaps I will touch your cheeks,
And feel how smooth they are;
Later perhaps I'll caress your head,
And gently smoothen your hair.
The little fingers, the curled fists,
Those round gumdrop eyes,
Later perhaps I'll kiss you, love,
And quieten your helpless cries.
But now, love, let me accept,
What grandpa and grandma say,
Accept that it was my fault,
To bring you here this day.
Let me hear that my daughter,
Is useless on this earth,
Lot of pain you will bring to us,
And not a penny you're worth.
Without a son, you know my love;
There's nothing for me but shame,
For who will light the funeral pyre,
And carry our family name?
Later, perhaps, I will my love,
Rock you till you sleep,
Right now, love, just bear with me,
And hold me while I weep.
This poem is dedicated to a woman I know, who cried after giving birth to her third daughter.
This is my second pathetic attempt at poetry. The first one you can read here.
Please feel free to trash them.