Some little boys have nowhere to go
So instead they sit on Christmas Eve alone.
Some orphan boys will never find home
Left to the open, forever to roam.
No Christmas trees, no gifts to be shared
Just them and their shadows, eternally paired.
Some little boys are dying deep inside
Poor Christmas orphans with no Kris Kringle pride.
So lay in your bed, son, and as you dream
Know sugar plum fairies are not what they seem.
For just 'round the block, little boys just like you
Are sleeping on concrete dreaming things they'll never do.
YOU ARE READING
Deepest Afflictions to Random Speculations
PoetrySometimes We cry Sometimes We laugh Sometimes It's one of the same thing Warning: may contain strong language, adult themes, and an unnecessary amount of "extra".
