He sits there,
lonely and silent,
as the whirling wind blows past him
and he shivers from the relentless cold.
People walk past,
not noticing the hurt expression on the young boy's face.
They stride past with their head's held high,
trying to hide their shame and disgust,
seemingly unstartled by his unnerving appearance.
Who will help this poor boy?
I say, who will help him?
miesha devres
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/poor-boy/
