Patch


Worn out, weathered, tattered and torn

The holes in his clothes drew nothing but scorn

How evil, how wicked, how thoughtless those boys

The same ones post-Christmas who flaunted their toys


No bikes, no consoles, no designer clothes

Just another year passing with nothing to show

No meal on the table, no hope, not a jot

Just two pissed parents and stains in the cot


Just when will he see an end to this shit?

Is this life, is it really, this can’t be it

No one to buy new clothes, clean off the rack

Not even a mother to sew on a patch.


The world can be cruel, like these kids on the street.

Smirking and laughing at the shoes on his feet

Not Nike, Adidas or other such brand

But a hand me down or charity from Salvation’s hand.

© 2023 by Train of Thoughts. Proudly created with Wix.com