On a cold, winter morning
A frosty wind was blowing,
As the sun hid behind a cloud.
On the road gathered a crowd.
“What’s going on” my mother wondered.
I had heard of the latest,
So I replied, “The boy who lived
By the wayside was dead.”
He was slowly dying of hunger and cold.
He barely survived on the money
Earned from the cheap toys that sold.
Once when I was going down the street,
I heard him pleading and begging them all
“Please Sir, please Madam, buy a doll.”
They all ignored him and hurried on.
I walked over to him, bent down.
And bought a doll from his small collection.
Not that I needed it, but it was worthwhile
To see that child’s gloomy face, break into the smile.
He had no home any place by a fire,
No one to fulfill his heart’s desire,
which was just to have a family.
That he could call his very own
Where love would be showered on him.
By each and everyone.
He wished for a friend, who
would be there today, tomorrow
And always by his side.
In times of joy and in times of sorrow
He longed to live in a house
Not large, but comfortable
Where he would sit with his family
As he ate his delicious food.
But his dreams yet dreams.
While we were all sitting by our fires, warm,
He was shivering and trembling out in the storm.
Fate had destined that night to be his last,
His energy was failing fast,
And by morning it was all over.
A crowd gathered around his body, dead.
But he was all alone when he was alive.
When he cried for help.
No one heeded his call,
Or came to his aid.
Now that it was all over,
They all gathered pitifully around
Saying, “Poor child! He had no one.”
