Poetry By Ken in Rainbow Colors

His mother died as he was born
In a lean-to on a warm morn,
They tried to pass him to aloof kin
But no one would take him in.

Fathered by a man he never knew
In an orphans' shelter he grew,
Where he was abused most everyday
Until at last he ran away.

The mean street is where he lives
Staying alive by a few that gives,
Begging for bread or a coin or two,
Insults and hunger were all he knew.

The beggar boy is there every day
Pleading of those passing his way,
"Can you spare some coins for me?"
Most look away so not to see.

No one cares for the poor waif at all
They turn deaf ears to his pitiful call,
He's just little beggar to annoy,
Only a ragged guttersnipe boy.

Tattered clothes hang as soiled rags,
His only possessions in a paper bag,
Worn-out shoes hurt his sore feet,
There's no comfort on a mean street.

Empty haunting eyes in a grubby face,
A broken castaway of man's disgrace,
He sits on the sidewalk sadly staring
As thoughtless people pass glaring.

He'll never feel love's healing glow,
A mother's caress he'll never know
As each lonely day creeps slowly past
One-by-one he's reaching his last.

He was found in front of a church door,
No one has to look at the boy anymore,
On a freezing night the beggar boy died
And Angel's were the only ones who cried.

©Written by: Kenneth J. Ellison 03-15-06

Song title: "Verdant Braes Of Skreen"(Irish)

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