A Child is Born in Africa

A soft cry breaks the silence of the hills,
A child is born in the fresh morning peace,
He kicks his tiny feet, oh so full of life,
He’s oblivious of his parents’ daily strife

The father hurries home, his eyes wet,
Envisioning the angel he hasn’t met yet,
His pace quickens as he nears the house,
Oblivious of the joy his child will arouse,

Mother’s arms are gentle around the bundle,
The joy within is more than she can handle,
For a moment, the day’s struggles disappear,
All her dreams are in her arms, right here,

The village ladies jubilantly gather around,
Ready to welcome him, their faces proud,
Reflecting the streaking sun shining bright,
Forgetting for the moment, their daily plight,

Their differences vaporize as they stand as one,
All their hearts longing for the child alone,
As the tea is served and all sit down to sip,
Its warmth melts their hearts; a single kinship,

They all ceremoniously welcome their own,
Thankful that a new generation is born,
Whether a servant, a teacher, a slave or a king,
What he’ll be is currently least of their concerns.

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