The Boy Raised By Women

A boy raised by a tribe of women,  
Surrounded by the arts, flowers in every room.  
He sees tranquility in all things,  
For his mother bids him to stare at the sky,  
And his sisters make him dance,  
Even when he does not wish to.
 
He watches the men who make his tribe cry,  
And vows to be nothing like them.  
Since four, he’s held doors open,  
For his aunt insisted,  
A gesture of grace, learned so young.  
He walks with confidence,  
For beauty has been his lifelong companion.
 
He knows when a hug is needed,  
When space must be given.  
He speaks with calm, never raising his voice,  
A gentleman, admired by older women,  
Their praises endless, for he’s inherited  
A charm, the only gift from his father.
 
Girls come near, drawn by his gentle heart,  
But his sisters stand guard,  
Protecting the softness within.  
He learns of herbs, of dreams, of prayer,  
A wisdom gifted, not learned in books.  
He knows how to fight,  
For his mother knew the world’s cruelty.
 
The women poured their love and energy,  
Hoping he would grow to heal,  
Not just to break hearts,  
But to mend what was once shattered.  
A boy raised by a tribe of women,  
A man who will heal, and never harm.
 
NP