The Little Boy
There he stood, with torn rags and a small hood,
by Savio Antonio Vogt
looking sad, because his lfe had been bad.
he walked about here and there,
searching for a place, but non responded,
they they didn't even share their houses base.
but still with courage,
he stood in the sun and rain,
he smiled like no one else,
all thought of him to be mad,
but non knew what purpose on this earth he had,
some say he's a saint
others take no notice, they call him just a faint,
but all I know, he has a purpose,
a purpose only known to him.
the little boy.