his innocence shines like a doll's
he walks wide-eyed down the lane
too young to even say his own name
with not much clothes to wear
yellow mud dyed his hair
he is a painful reflection
of his world of deprivation
He reaches out a tiny hand
and leans as close to me as he can
his heart filled with longings
for the sweets, pens or monies
that a foreign face can promise
sympathy no one can resist
So happily he returns home
proudly parading what he now owns
this little boy's too young to know
of the cruel fact that's not been told
that kind-hearted millions pour
into the Devil's pocket behind closed doors
27 May 1996