The Child of the Child
 
The child of the child sits in the sun,
Patiently waiting there for her mum,
Who's gone to buy sweets from the newsagent's shop
Before catching the bus from the number five stop.
Folding the pushchair they hold one another,
The child strokes the cheek of her freckle-faced mother,
No wrinkles of anguish, no flecks of grey hair
In the innocent face of the girl standing there,
Just the sad, lonely look of a bored teenager
Who has suffered the bet of a schoolgirl wager,
Not for her now the career in the city,
The chance to be free, to have fun, what a pity,
No dances for her at the end of the day,
She now has a baby, she now has to pay
For a moment of rashness, a moment sufficient,
If lived once again would her choice have been different?


Back to village
Bus stop