He sat amidst the mossy pebbles-
Rugged clothes hoarded with dust.
A dirty ,half broken bowl in his hand,
And a few shiny silver coins he possesses..
Flagging and ravenous he is,
Melancholy,loneliness encompassing him..
Flashing before his eyes-
Is the tragic death of his parents,
On that jinxed evening of December..
He weeps in twinge,a sack of pain dangling from his naive heart..
He battles the snags of life,
Barely triumphant all alone..
There he strodes down the narrow dusty alley,
This evaded little soul...
P