nestled in the womb of her mother's belly (could've been a boy) asleep, patiently waiting for the first hard twist of the wrist that verifies life staring there through closed eyes of infanthood into questionable heaven and hell feeling with her puckered lips on her mother's breast tugging at her father's beard, as it tickles brings the expression of what is later her first laught, her first joy crawling around on her knees and holding onto the chair, tht gives support for that very first step Smiling, muttering her first words was it mama or was it papa? Unsheltered, un chained, free to explore, that is within the limits of poverty and other frustrating hells that one day may come to and end wondering with all that has been comprehended in such a short time wandering and seeing so much from her two eyes returning, confused, baffled constantly questioning after experiencing more pain that ...joys, as to whether it would have been better to have been       born or unborn?

FOR MY DAUGHTER

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MARVA 1964-

COPYRIGHT WILLIAM R. I. "EASY" SMITH ALL RIGHTS RESERVED