A seed was kept, by a pretty woman, in her pocket
As she goes, up and down the stairs, with a bucket
For nine long months, she has it, inside her pocket
Till she finally lost her strength to carry the bucket
When the seed popped up, from her maiden pocket
She promised herself, not to let it grow, in a bucket
Though, there is still great pain, in her worn pocket
She continues, even she’s weak, to carry the bucket
To the man of her life, she entrusted him her pocket
Till she went broke, nothing left, but just her bucket
Worst, the conman planted a seed, inside her pocket
He left her, when she has nothing, but only a bucket
Times has passed, the woman has gained her pocket
Because of a strong-willed mind, to carry the bucket
She has a fine young man, the seed, from her pocket
He is matured and never felt ashamed, of her bucket
When the beloved Romeo learned, of her full pocket
He returned with promises, of help, to fill the bucket
Too late, his own seed, he had planted, in her pocket
Will not accept him, for leaving them, with a bucket
No more love for the man, who likes only her pocket
Nor, for the man, who left them, because of a bucket
Will you pity the man, who has but an empty pocket?
Will you pity a woman, who carries her own bucket?
Will you hate me, if, I wish not to share my pocket?
Will you love me, if, I leave you with only a bucket?
Never rush to a person, who minds only your pocket
Nor, love a person, who has no guts to hold a bucket
For it is not so easy to be a seed, in an empty pocket
Nor easy to witness a mother carries a loaded bucket
She was a pretty woman, who once had a rich pocket
Thou abandoned she gave her son a life, not a bucket
Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago | Year Posted 2006