My Dear Child
You were a product of poor environment.
You were given no chance,
You were given no hope,
Destined to be held captive,
In a prison of flesh and bone.
Children should play,
Children should laugh,
Children should explore new worlds,
You only knew of pain,
You only knew illness,
You only knew of despair.
No child should be as you.
No child is a machine.
I now look upon man in disgust,
For making you this way.
You were never kept by breast,
You were fed by machines,
Machines that kept you.
Once I saw you smile,
I know you knew of love,
My father kept you nourished,
My mother dressed you well.
I knew little of suffering,
I knew little of misery,
I knew nothing until I met you.
A child who couldn't speak,
who couldn't walk,
who couldn't read,
Taught me new worlds and possibilities.
Your final days, I couldn't watch,
I couldn't bend at knee,
I waited for the phone call,
To hear that you were free,
My dear child,
You were a product of poor enviroment,
You gave me a chance,
You gave me hope,
You have set me free!
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
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