Dust devils, swirling round the orphanage
hugging each wall, troubling
the moss that clings to it, but too weak
to uproot even those who have no hold
Defiant, and indifferent, to the wary stares
the curious gaze of the seeing, but non-aware
Slipping silently, through breaks of the cracked
walls, looking, seeking for a place to settle
Each dust, watches quietly, the little angels,
who are oblivious to the world and tomorrow,
who live only today, for some fun, some little sun,
and for some kindness seen through the eyes
of those who care enough, to care.
