Little boy

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The little boy with his tousled, curly locks
Revelling in his throne of big and small rocks;
Underneath his eternally closed lips,
A pair of pearly whites with a little dip.

Droops over my entrance
His rations, depends upon emotions and the heavens
Gawking at the floral parade outside
Rules don't apply to him, nor does he abide.

A vehement little thing he is
Draped only with what used to be a white overall
There is no sound from him, not even a guffaw.

The so called 'throne' he has made
Is his only pride and joy;
During downpour and dark
He takes shelter with all the creatures of Noah's ark.

The brevity of human life
He never fails to defy
Not a care in the world, not a sacrifice
Not worried about his strength or his vice.

No one goes near this little boy
And he thinks it is better that way
His only pride and joy
The little brats might splay.

This pathetic little boy
Guards the street at night
Aware of every scream and blight.






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