6:00 a.m. Foggy morning Breath of a four year old, Reaches my ears.
HARF! HARF ! He goes. The cold wave gripping him tight, I sit cozy in four layers of warmth He runs nude on the main street, Holding his priceless possessions - Two pieces of dried bread, hard as stone.
I stare and wonder, What's fair? Does anyone care? Everyone here is a millionaire. She cuts into her birthday cake, Crowds cheer. Millions spent. In a nation, Where souls cry and die, Hungry and Bare.
