Small Hands, Big Struggles

My shoes were too torn to wear,
I walked in them.
So cold my feet felt, in the chilly air.
Long nights full of hunger,
The streets were not fair.

The creeping wind bit my skin,
I covered myself with a worn-out blanket,
So thin.
No warm fire to help through the night,
No one to save me from this plight.

They laughed at school, they knew not,
The weight I bore and the relief I sought,
I stayed silent and unseen. I stayed small.
All they had, I envied, and all they got.
I believed they had a gracious god.

Rough hands, my mother had,
But they were full of grace.
She was always weary,
It showed on her face.
She worked hard, she fought in vain.

Her love could not shield us from the pain,
It seemed poverty, from the heavens, rained,
All her efforts were always drained.
I did pray, for a better day,
Upon which, wealth, I would claim.