Gift of Poverty
My mother would sit there,
And watched as we ate,
She lied about eating,
As we cleaned our plate...
The clothes that we wore,
Were ones that she made,
Since she couldn’t afford,
After bills were all paid...
And I still remember,
Me shoveling coal,
While others used oil,
For heat through the cold...
So the room that we shared,
Would always stay warm,
While plastic taped windows,
Would hold back the storm...
Many will tell you,
That I grew up poor,
But poverty blessed us,
With gifts that meant more...
( Thank you mom now I see )
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
