The Little Vagabond.

I have no bed.

I have no clothes.

I eat stale bread.

No socks to cover my toes.

I can’t read.

But I can write my name.

I practiced on dusty car windows.

First I was taught to cry for a meal.

And never realized when fake tears became real.

Yes, I am small.

But not like I have no soul at all.

Then, I was asked to sell toys.

I don’t envy toys.

Just those neat and clean boys.

The difference is only of a glass pane.

Or may be fate, it’s hard to explain.

With the fear of being hit.

And before the lights go green.

I squeeze in-between the machines.

Owing it all to a body that is so lean.

Should I be blaming my parents?

Do I even know who they are?

My friends tell me to keep looking.

I’ll surely find them in this city of concrete and tar.

Let me tell you a secret. I’ve seen her once.

They say she lives at the corner of the street.

They say she’s rich.

But they also say two corners never meet.

My mom always told me to be polite.

So, would you like to come to my house?

It looks beautiful when the sun is nice and bright.

It’s pretty big. I can’t really take you around.

But you’ve probably seen it all, because it’s the entire town.

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