To blow on the thistles, <br />And scatter the spores to the dusty winds, <br />Where the thistle loses its identity. <br />Growing bare, <br />Where they are the pods of the Gods sent <br />Down from heaven, <br />To become the creatures of the true heart. <br />The only sin they have committed <br />Is being born alive. <br />With no one to care for them, <br />Where their only aim is to survive. <br />As they must hide unloved,<br /><br />Consuelo Suarez<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-children-of-the-streets/
