Bless the unmotivated child who cannot find value
In nouns and verbs, long division, or finding the author’s purpose.
Bless the child of the alcoholic father,
And the mother who is struggling just to survive each day.
Bless the child who has had television as his babysitter
Since the time he could first sit up, his neurons now incompatible
With sitting silently in straight rows,
Success being judged on the ability to decipher line upon line
Of code sprawled across endless pages.
Bless the angry child who never knows
What he will come home to or if he’ll get the rest he needs tonight;
The child who is crying for a Mommy or a Daddy
To give him a hug or say “How was your day?”
The child who might have to search through bare cupboards
To make his supper tonight.
Bless the angry child, who has been told
Again and again that he is no good.
May he somehow discover the Creator of all good things