Poem for Critique

While investigating the syllabus for this year's Muswellbrook eisteddfod, I was pleasantly surprised to discover a new section - creative writing.  I hadn't planned on entering in anything this year as my piano is not up to scratch and I cannot do public talking, but although I do not consider writing to be a particularly strong point for me, I thought creative writing would be fun to try.  (If you would like to enter, the syllabus can be found at file:///C:/Users/Emily/Downloads/Syllabus%202014_1%20(1).pdf)


Anyway, the poem I have written is rather sad and probably not what one would expect from a younger writer (in my opinion, anyway) but I decided to go through with it because 1) it is a topic I feel very strongly about 2) the poem came so naturally there doesn't seem to be much sense in changing it for something that I struggled for hours to write, and 3) because I am in the open age category (being over 18 years old) I had to pull out something a little more mature (for want of a better word) to be able to compete with older more experienced writers.  I am somewhat comforted by the fact that a published poet said recently that rhythmic, rhyming poetry is a dying art and few people can master it... (that said, however, I know a number of people who write in such just a way - maybe we are all geniuses!  :P )


I haven't named my poem as yet, so when you comment (and, yes, I am imploring you to comment on this one!) please tell me honestly what you think of the poem, where I could make improvements, and what I could name it.  I will very much appreciate all suggestions and criticisms.  :)  Thankyou!

Anxious, they hover and are waiting near by

As the night is broken by a pained woman’s cry.

The husband, the mother they listen and wait.

It’s been such a long time… such a long time

Such a long time since they’d started to wait.

Then through the quiet, the still early dawn,

Comes the cry of a baby – the child is born.

The joy of a little one – they rush to her side.

She’s exhausted and weak, but beaming with pride.

“Look at him,” she whispers, a tear in her eye,

“He could only be your son… only be your son…

Only your son would have such beautiful eyes.”

They gaze at the child, so skinny, so small

And before they say more, he’s gone like a leaf in the fall.

For one joyous instant, he had been theirs:

And now all one hears are their tears and their prayers.

“God let us keep him!” they cry out aloud

But the little soul slips away… the soul slips away…

The soul slips away while they are praying aloud.

And as the little one stiffens and starts to grow cold,

They kiss him good-bye with grief none can withhold.

God grant comfort to her to had pained for so long

 And to him who for her must stay steady and strong.

And while we don’t know why these things come to pass,

We know faith is a strength… faith is a strength…

Faith is a strength which none can surpass.

Hold onto this strength and peace will overflow

With the courage to look and to hope for tomorrow.