This is an entry from an unfinished, semi-released book of grimm themed poems
12 hungry children sit a table
a sorrowing feast spun straight from a fable
The pitiful spread of bark and berries
the oldest remarks while picking at scabies
“We’re starving Pa!”, still chewing galangal,
“how can we survive with nothing but bramble!”
“Worry not my boy” the father remarked
“the youngest shall help, go boil your bark”
“Be good for your mother, your kin need your help”
the young boy stood up with nary a welp
And as the boy walked away
father bowed his head to pray
“Dear lord whom has watched us struggle and fight…”
“Please guide my children into the light”
The room fell silent. No sound, no light,
from up on the mantle, only a candle to give sight
Not a child was speaking, the wind spoke for all
when mother came in, paced like a crawl
She burdened the family with pot full of roast
she was far from proud, never to boast
Boiled sweet carrots, apples and salt for season
they all bowed their heads for they all knew the reason
The meal was far from bland or bleak
11 hungry children fed for the week
ImpChimp Art 