Allan "The Lame Kid's Cry"

In the dusty streets where the world runs fast,
A boy sits still, his shadow cast.
His legs won't carry him to the chase,
Yet his dreams soar high, in boundless space.

The laughter echoes from fields afar,
He gazes long at the bright-lit stars.
Wishing his body could match his soul,
Longing for life to feel more whole.

They call him "lame," as though he's less,
But in his heart, he burns quiet finesse.
A mind so sharp, a will so strong,
Yet the world won't see where he belongs.

At Lifeline Aid, a hand reaches out,
To lift his spirit, to banish doubt.
Here's a chair, a crutch, a guide,
And hope to walk with dignity and pride.

Disabled, yes, but not defined,
By what his body leaves behind.
For in his heart, a fire alights,
A life renewed with endless might.

So, let us help, let us believe,
In every child, there is there is a dream to weave.
Through care, through love, through aid so true,
The lame shall rise and walk anew.