Box of Abandonment

Down, down the known street where  the quite evening lying down, my legs took me a walk  Sending the sun to west, something that street holding for me. Little, little lonely voices' hands knocking my ears from where  tied my steps with rope pulling toward them.  Under a tree, a mere brown box.   Under the mortal sin, placed the box of abandonment who. Stygian, stygian dirt on their white furs as  longing woken on their red eyes for their mother.   The hunt of hungriness befell their tums how long  Whipped in thirstiness, the begging voices of two little kittens  someone to be their saviour.  I found inside the box of abandonment. Wanderer, the wanderer hiding eight hundred rivers in its rucksack.    On that day, the wanderer unseen stopping by that street.  Do has a lot empathy in the thunderous wanderer' rucksack,  don't want to give the kittens cold trembling.    Tight, tightly their voices must have grabbed   knobs of unclosed ears passing by that street.  When I was about to carry the box of abandonment   to home, they came. Two unfamiliar girls. The box of abandonment on their hand,  they put.  To be unfold in their paths,  blessings waiting for them. Bigger their sympathy's footmark upon their foot What that street holding, I saw.