Carved on a Child’s mind a preacher’s words rang,
Treading earth and Filth with hardened soles
His puny hands sorting out Post sell-by discards
Past his black -Cracked lips,
Behind his Camouflaged teeth, by his parched throat,
Just below that;
His empty stomach treated him to a Sumptuous
Neither dance nor hum escaped his Countenance,
Had he not heard it before?
None but a Sigh!
How he yearned for Heaven
Where there Flowed ‘Manna’ enough for A days meal!
© xavier waweru