Little boy in blue wants to play,


Build his house from worn-out clay.


His skin tainted gray,


Little boy in blue walks barefoot each May.

He tiptoes beside the pristine facade,


Wary of scrutiny’s guard,


As he struggles to decipher the inked scraps, 
thrown and marred.

The windowsills parade a white and navy hue;

Across the street, dressed in envy, yearns the little boy in blue.

He scours the debris with gentle care,

Collecting bottles to meet his father’s fare.

In the realm of cardboard shelters and tattered rags,

Our little boy in blue dreams amidst the tags.

Sent