A small child falls and Mother’s there,
To tend a hurt knee with loving care.
She’d dry the tears and hug them tight,
Soon they’d forget their plight.
A small child wakes, crying with fright
And Father’s there, with the light.
He’d comfort and soothe,
Make the bed sheets smooth.
A small child hides, huddles in covers,
Listening as Dads fight with Mothers.
Covered ears, waiting for them to cease
Screaming “Stop fighting, please!”
A small child waits, for Dad to come in,
But Dad’s long gone and Mum’s to thin.
The fights have stopped, the house is quiet
The weeping is loud, yet ever so silent.
A small child want’s a happy ever after,
A house with a Mother and a Father.
Did they care, or was it an act?
Is this a myth, or is it fact?
