He sat on the curb near his house,
A park bench or cardboard box collapsed.
The clothes on his back
Well, there are no clothes only scraps.
The ceramic mug that sits in front,
Sometimes is filled with shiny coins well sought.
The sign that his mother holds everyday
Is a plea of help to work for food and money,
So they may not starve and be skinny.
The little boy sitting on the curb
Contemplates about how his life came to be disturbed,
For the world is cruel and some people too.
He's only just a little boy who lives in poverty.