Five little children, ages one to five,

Living a life of hardship, and struggling to survive.

Pity them now, for no one seems to care,

if they are dressed or fed, or if they are over here, or over there.

 Their broken down trailer, is far from being a home,

And in and out of this squalid place, do their three fathers roam.

For hours on end, unimaginable screams can be heard,

and as if the flipping of a switch, there is nothing… not a single word.

 Just the other day, the boy of perhaps four,

slipped unawares, through the broken door.

And there he went, running down the street,

As naked as the day he was born,

except for the socks on his feet.

 If it were not for the goodness of a minister of God’s word,

He would have kept running, until the tracks he would find,

And if the timing was as such, and the train was on time

the engineers horn would have been the last thing he heard.

Now, as the years go marching by,

and if these little children survive,

what kind of adults will they be?

Will they live long enough to set things right?

Or will they simply repeat, the tumultuous life they now see?

Will these little girls grow old before their time?

and will they, like their mother, become hooked on crack,

will they hustle the streets for a living,

and give comfort to strangers while lying on their back?

And what of the young boy,

will he ever become a man,

Or will he die in the violence

that seems a part of destiny’s hand?

Empathy and anger consume me,

for when I see the suffering in their sad eyes

I want to fight for their chance at life,

Yet, inwardly, I in humilities chaste break down and cry.

This cycle is more than I can fathom,

and I am at a loss on what to do,

For I can not save but one and not another,

For this is bigger than me and you.

 Even still I pray…

That these five little ones,

Will someday….

find their way.

J. Allen Wilson © 2004