A child steps off the train,

His figure, drab and plain.

Poor child, tired and drained,

Walks through the endless rain.

Through the crowds he finds his way,

In the streets, nothing less than a stray.

This boy has no name,

And if he did, would anyone care anyway?

He makes his home among the stained,

With those who are wrongly blamed

For problems caused by those less tamed

than this poor boy could ever dream.

And yet, he’s tossed with bad grain

In the trash bin of disdain,

Left to die with such raw pain.

How bleak, how gray!

But here comes hope unplanned

A sliver of light among the bland!

She is a mother, her heart untanned,

Willing to foster with open hand.

The boy is scared, but sees his fare

And chooses her, who will to care

For him as if her child to stroke his hair

And love him always despite his weight to bear.

A clear night, stars litter the sky.

I feel huge, a giant among flies.

Twelve O’clock, the sun long gone;

Morning waits in anticipation.

 

A lot can happen now till then.

I watch the bats flutter in.

The wolves howl, the foxes hunt;

I listen to the fat hogs squeal and grunt.

 

But in my time I always die,

No matter how hard I try and try.

Morning overtakes me and I am hid.

Each day the sun: “Good rid!”

 

I yawn and stretch and say my prayers;

throughout the day I sleep upstairs.

In the sun the people play;

At night, alone, I’m left with strays.

 

Is it a cruel world in which I dwell?

My story, people rarely tell.

The clock controls me, the sun disowns me,

Yet I refuse to let this be my destiny.