A/N- This is something I did for English class this week, mostly because we have a poetry project and the teacher said that no one in our class could write something in iambic pentameter. When people say things like that I just have to prove them wrong... don't you? So this is the result of that... "challenge."
Urchin
He walks the streets alone,
Small feet are bare in snow,
A cheerful song upon his lips.
His voice is drowned by icy wind;
His rags are flapping from his fragile frame
Like wings of bats or sparrows in the sky.
He tells himself that he is free
And glad to be without a home;
To wander through the town,
To turn his back on life.
But deep beneath his bright and smiling eyes
A touch of sadness always tries to hide.