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Timothy's Cabin

Today, it is someone else.

Through the thick curtain Timothy watches
His mother, building his future.
The man should slow down, he thinks
Maybe a little less rough, like the night,
But he goes on; And Timothy looks away.
He should act asleep, he knows
But the silhouettes dance like demons
Over the young eyes full of questions.
The lantern flickers its flame, but
Fails to hide the dark.
Timothy picks up a crayon, and thinks
How to colour the demon on his sheet;
'Will I put a smile?' he thinks, and then
Comes another muffled scream from behind
The curtains; Yes, a smile is needed, he decides.
The sheet is soiled, but he does not mind.
The man moans, sighs, and stands up
While Timothy wonders
What this final sigh is about;
The man walks out; Yes, a smile is needed.
Timothy draws a broad one on the face
Of his demon, and looks at his sheet
'Shouldn't there be many heads?' he thinks
When his mother comes and sits by his side;
Her lips bleeding, her neck bruised.
She gives Timothy some coins and says -
'You can buy new crayons tomorrow.'
The little cabin fails, again, to lighten up;
And Timothy knows, they need food
And clothes, and medicines, and shoes;
He knows that his mother's lips won't
Get any time to heal; He knows that
Tomorrow, again, behind the begrimed curtain,
There will be someone else.

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