Their tears fall upon dusty
calloused feet
Their cries go unanswered
in the night
These poor souls for whose
only crime is youth
Bloated bellies and parched lips
Dry throats and sunken eyes
One more child dies
One more angel born
To live
To die
And not know laughter
To exist in an unforgiving world
One of many who has suffered
One of many to come
One too many

Michael A. Watts

Copyright-3 August 1993