Who Met Death
The woman was indeed pushing
her way through the crowd,
pulling, stepping, crushing,
none to proud,
on her face was an expression of relief,
then it turned to genuine compassion,
the child on the street,
blood at his feet,
was not her son,
then another one,
pushed through the crowd,
crying loud,
coughing, gasping, grasping for breath,
it was her child who met death.
Copyright © Frank F. Atanacio | Year Posted 2009
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