The loose,metal, sidegate latch hit the ground,
Urchin, barely seven, brave, grabbed it quick,
As loud as I could scold, he could fast lick,
Distance of the scrapyard, in just one bound.
Few weeks later, cheeky fellow was back,
While he dug up remains of an old knife,
Proudly, spoke of escapes, streetwise of strife,
Homeless, survived selling metal-odds scrap.
Callous world though, feelings he had not hard,
Not long he lived,died of fever yellow,
Some folks still swear, someplace he digs for scraps.
Must be in heaven, a far, richer scrapyard,
Pearly Gates' latch on mind!!! Cheeky fellow!
The Lord, sure won't scold so little a chap.
Note: Fever yellow: Jaundice
abba, abba,cde, cde pattern followed.