The Teacher and the Foundling
THE TEACHER AND THE FOUNDLING
Dirty raw face
Lost in a vicious
Dog-eat-dog world ,
His tears washed rivulets
Into my chalky hand .
Dissolving into
My soft inner soul ,
He sensed mother
And clung to the skirts
Of my conscience.
My home’s warm respite ,
Another world of gentle feeling ;
Before the return to darkness
And bruised cold fingers
In beer bottle bedrooms .
Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2010
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