The Child's Aria

(A dark stage, no set. A male child, perhapse seven or eight stands slightly to stage left of the center, in a single white spotlight. The child is dressed in oversized, patched night clothes, and hugs a pillow to his chest that is tattered and limp with use.)

Oh, Mother, Oh Father,
Voices carried through the floor,
I can hear you, from where I lay
Listening, not understanding,
But feeling frightened all the same.

Do you love me, do you hate me,
Will you love what I grow to become?
Rich or Poor, Wise or Bore,
Hold me back, or let me go
The choice is yours, there's no mistake.

Oh, Mother, Oh Father,
Faceless, nameless, arms that I seek,
You are my comfort, my shelter,
forget me not,
Oh, Mother, Oh, Father,
forget me not.