Nativity
Some are born by paupers
Their struggle starts at infancy;
With dried-up bottoms
And washed-out concertina ribs,
Yet their rust-colored teeth find solace
On their mother’s shriveled breasts.
Others are born with silver spoon,
I mean the fat-bellied children of fate;
Yet still suck their podgy fingers,
And one-nippled bottle
Instead of their mother’s juicy breasts.
For those whose story
Has been written with PEN
In the pages of colorful memoirs
Life is a bed of roses
Dressed in ornate regalia.
For those whose story
Has been written with PAIN
Each scar on their body
Is a lesson taught by life
To bring them into limelight.
Nevertheless, in both cases
Nativity is an unarguable scenario,
The beginning is already written
How the story ends is up to you.
Copyright © Jerry Tersoo Agee | Year Posted 2020
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