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The ground was hard mud,
A lot of water and dung,
Had dried over it in suds,
It was cool in summers,
And shivered in winters,
Inner bones getting hammers,
Adults are thus,
They have seen a lot,
And cannot complain much,
It was the two tender ones,
That caught my eyes,
Lying huddled in a corner like chums,
Warmth flowing in between,
Life brought them close,
When playing they were apart with envy green,
However the freeze was another matter,
It needed all heat their body could ooze,
From out of tattered clothes,
Which they could hardly choose,
They were born on streets,
To parents unknown,
No one to know and birthdays to greet,
It was not known,
When they learned to stand and walk,
And when at young age they had grown,
Grown ill and weak,
Day’s misery and ill health ran along,
Often they had little to eat,
Famished stomach and heart,
Can beat the hell out of many,
Not to talk of kids up without mother or nanny,
And then it was this bitter cold,
I wondered they might die,
Without growing old,
A reverse scene must be true,
When they suffered heat,
They had after all seen it and grew,
Their systems had inured,
A many times good and bad,
Now they do not complain and brood,
What was their fault,
That they could not opt,
And prevail with powers that be,
To make their births soft,
How many of them will make,
Without education or health,
Good citizens on their take,
Or be counted like many,
Petty help hands/criminals,
On the look out for little money.

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