The Fever of a Childe

A Poem by Jerome

The fever of the childe is high
his fingers expand and tighten to fists
as his spirit fights for life
His mother sits at his side, praying to the man Jesus
her hands always resting on her tear stained face between prayer
His father stands in the corner
his eyes neutral, hands in pockets fingering loose coin
The priest stands at the foot of the childe's bed,
his eyes filled with glory
for sending another soul up to the lord of heaven
"The boy will die soon" he says, solemn
The mother weeps,
but the father grins
because he knows that children never listen
and a man knows his gods and his boys
and this one will grow to be a man.