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Soap Box Poets

A Little Boy
© by Judy Caldwell

A little boy, with little red truck in hand,
Is carried to safety by a uniformed man.
Not holding back tears and fear in his eyes.
He passes where the dead and wounded lie.

Sorrowful eyes fixed in dazed stares.
All in disbelief at what they see there.
A stranger's arms stretch out to hold.
A blanket shields him from the cold.

The place he use to call his home,
Now looks more like a battleground.
Surrounded by strangers he feels so alone,
His family can't be found.

His mother no longer tucks him in at night.
His father can't teach him how to fly a new kite.
He can't watch his brother build new model boats.
Or hear his sister laugh as she jumps rope.

A little boy, with little red truck in hand
Sees the graves before him, but can't understand
He's so young to have experienced such pain.
How can those responsible claim this a gain?

A frightened little boy in a distant war torn land
Receives a little red truck from a uniformed young man.

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