Poor Child
Standing all alone on the hill, poor child,
Staring at the town’s old mill, poor child.
If daddy only hadn’t lost his job last year,
Maybe he’d be living with us still, poor child.
Winters coming soon he’ll need some shoes,
He doesn’t even have a dollar bill, poor child.
He rubs his hungry tummy as a tear fills up his eye,
But you won’t hear him cry for he is still, poor child.
He wanders off to find some scraps to eat,
Digs in the dumpster near the grill, poor child.
The boy then seeks a place to rest his head,
Thankful that he still has one more pill, poor child.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
2012
Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014
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