Her little one...

A tiny room, spick and span

Slumped on the couch is a hefty man

And big is he, with beastly demeanour

And the sly grin of a sinner

A dainty woman lives with him

Elegant, petite, slender and slim

Delicate as a lily, with captivating charm

She travails and toils in a nearby farm

They've quarreled, it seems to be,

With an unpleasant bickering cacophony

"The boy will never give it to thee!"

"His money belongs only to me!!"

He wants the cash for booze and flutter

But she needs her bread and butter

At the stroke of nine, the lad came home

Weak, frail and thin as a bone.

"Boy, how many matches did you sell?"

"Thirty nine", he muttered under a spell

The thirsty, avaricious eyes gleamed,

"Gimme all the money I need"

The boy shook his head, determined.

Thrice he repeated, thrice he declined

The mother Prompts,"Don't! Don't give him!

"Don't give in to this maniac's whim!"

The demented brute rebelled,

And unfastened his leather belt.

He lashed the boy with the savage whip

Till his abused skin cut in strips.

Green with greed, red with rage

The demon rested after an age

And stormed angrily out the door,

The lad left weeping on the floor.

He staggered to bed and laid his head

on the pillow, trying to forget

his bitter childhood, but in vain.

He could still remember every pain.

The dainty woman at the door.

A mother's heart cried out more

than her little one's painful whimpers.

She consoled him with soothing whispers.

He broke out of his mother's embrace

And looked up at her cherubic face

Resolute, he wiped away his his tears

Just as he'd cast away his fears

Gently, from a pillow beneath

To his dear mother did he bequeath

His hard-earned savings - 10 pounds

The rains and the coins made the only sounds.

Tears trickled down her cheeks

A dam she'd been building up for weeks

She kissed the top of her boy's head

"Oh my son!" was all she said...