Meek Little One by Kevin Legge

Sitting, staring, with wounded eyes,
Glittering blood on his cheek,
The river of tears, as he cries,
Sadness in child so meek.
He sought only for a friend,
Someone to call his own,
A willing hand he would lend,
For he was so scared and alone.
With courage he reached forth his hand,
For a friend that would be so dear,
The sun shone across the land,
Sparkling smile so near.
With malicious grin, the other one stood,
And slapped the boy’s gentle face,
Meek and mild, wholesomely good,
His thoughts began to race.
Curled inside, wrapped in a ball,
Confusion and terror his mates,
Witness of the other’s spiteful fall,
Unknown his likes and hates.
Now the child, gentle and meek,
Sits and rocks all day,
Forever afraid again to seek,
For what, he no longer can say.

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