I had those things material,
That most children could desire.
But how could one so infantile,
Know what caused her inner fire.
When one’s mother is away for years,
A child must and can adjust;
But a convent full of tears and fears,
Is not a placement one can trust.
The statues and many prayers
Were not those I was accustomed to;
They only added to the nightmares,
Not a place to put a lonely little Jew.
The nuns they did their duty,
But love was not there to share.
I could not know the beauty
Of children in parental care.
Holidays and weekend visits
Seemed few and far between,
An older brother tried within limits,
Making his concern for me be seen.
Seven years of near misery
Until mother and daughter united;
A family at last ‘tho still a mystery,
A new life yet to be enlightened.
Two brothers so much older,
New friends at college to make;
At thirteen not a panacea
For all the previous ache.
Mother often taken to her bed,
Meant absences from college.
Added to my laziness it led
To less than satisfactory knowledge.
There comes a time I do believe
When we all have a catharsis.
Mine I could not in advance conceive,
For it would bring me out of darkness.
A marriage at a tender age
Was a wonderful new beginning,
All that went before assuaged
And years of love my winnings.