I who am childless see a hunger there
For more than new-made loaves and cherry pies.
There is a spirit-hunger in his eyes,
A love unfed, a craving for the care
Of one who holds him special. With an air
Of nonchalance he laughs but his heart cries
For childhood's joyous heritage with skies
Rainbowed with deep affection ever fair.
Yet she who feeds his body fails to see
He needs the manna of her arms, her kiss,
Her tender words, her love's sure alchemy
To feed his soul within its chrysalis--
These hungry lads, help me to feed and bless,
Who having mothers still are motherless.
