The little child

The little child
He wants to play
Innocent
Friendly 
Not a burden 
On his parents
There is no knowledge 
To be crammed
No stress
No examinations
There are no lessons 
To be done

They’re busy 
His father
Hunting
To bring him supper
He’s with his friends
They’re a team
They discuss
Their strategies
Together 
They’ll bring down
That giant beast

Sometimes
There are fights
Disagreements 
Who’s the leader
Who will attack
First?
Who has an eye
On your wife
Who takes
A major portion

They get along
Most of the time
They’re a team
Fighting
For survival 

His mother
Stitching fur
Or leather
And a needle
Made of bone
To keep away 
The freezing cold

Making arrows
Cooking supper
When food arrives
Gossiping 
With her friends
All the time

Sometimes
They fight
She’s lazy
Doesn’t do
The cleaning
The washing
The pretty one
She’s sleeping
With my husband 
Who has the most
Beautiful 
Neckpiece
Of mammoths teeth

The air is pure
But very chill
Clothed in fur
Of the mammoths
That perished 
So that
They can
Survive

Theve made a ball
His friends
It falls 
Into the river
Out they go 
To fish it out
They have no shirts
They’re taken off
Their fur coat
The water
Almost frozen
Takes away
Their breath

They manage 
To get back
Without their
Ball
Shivering 
In their coats they
What would they do 
Without a ball?

Their mothers
Them berate
What a foolhardy thing
You did
Their fathers return
Late evening
Admonishment 
And rage
And beatings

You morons
You could have died
Go without your supper
Out of the fireplace 

Their bellies empty
The cold severe
They can manage
They’ve starved before 

They look up 
To the skies
The bright lights
A few red 
Some yellow
Some white

When were they born?
Those bright lights
They muse
Is the maker of those 
The creator of us
Is HE one
Or are they many?
Who gave us the land
The river
The fruits 
The mammoths
The arrows
The fire
The creation?

A profound thought
Fills their minds
They’re not
An accident
The sparks of fire
The deafening sounds
The occasional sight
Of the blazing
Hot thing
The cold flakes
The pouring
Drops of water 
They can’t be
An accident
When they’re hungry
A mammoth they spot
When they’re thirsty
A steam
Through they have gone
For weeks 
Without fresh food
But they have been
Sustained
They’ve survived

They decide to pray
To that heavenly being
That guards them
From from above
That sustains
That guards
That blesses
And makes sure
They survive

They believe 
And so does he
That father
Of the generations
That little Child 






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