when the sun goes down
shadows of mountains and trees , covers our play ground.
sounds of birds calls each other to their nest
the moon light and the stars becomes cloth of the sky.
place that called our play ground becomes my home
the sky becomes my blanket
and my African soil becomes my bed
I'm homeless I used to cry but no more.
some call me homeless
some call me poor ,I used to beg but now they give me freely
when the sun goes down
I find new home ,I used to be scared but now scary dark place is my home when I put my head on
when sun goes down
©poetpeter
P