23 December 2012
Cold December drags on.
Little boy walking at night,
singing his song.
The only familiar voice to him,
is his own.
The cold, damp streets he calls his home.
His heart is pure but very strong.
Doesn't think of himself at all,
only taking what he needs to carry on.
Shivering as he marches through the snow.
Through towns and woods he comes and he goes.
As he walks further into the trees he comes across a little girl, begging on her knees.
He pulled out a piece of stale bread he bought with all he had.
Shared with the little girl, she lied down to rest her head.
Looked her in her eyes.
"Merry Christmas."
Is what he said.
Opuss № I