This is one of my first poems when I was much younger, my teen years. This poem still has the same power today.
The Boy Cried...
"Hey mister, got a quarter?"
the boy says with a grin.
"I need it to buy my dinner,
'cause my dads not home again."
"He goes to the bar everyday,"
his head lowers in shame.
"He comes home late and beats me,
'cause there's no one else to blame."
"Son," the man says, "Let me tell you a story,
I was once a boy like you;
except my Father opened His arms to me,
as He's asked me to do for you."
"You see," the man says, eyes full of hope,
"You're safe here by my side."
"Oh boy," the child says gleefully,
"I no longer have to run and hide?"
As the parents and family sit quietly,
At the grave site of their son.
"Oh dear God," the father stammers,
"What could we possibly have done?"