Three children

Three little children.
One with a home.
One sitting on a thrown.
The last child only skin and bones.

One child lives happily with his family.
One child sits alone; his family won’t spare the time
The last child watches his mother die.

One child has a few new toys.
One child has the best toys anyone can imagine.
The last child plays with sticks and stones.

One child attends public school.
One child stays home and studies alone.
The last child has to cook and has never opened a book.

The children become men.

One man is off to war.
One man is sitting behind a jail door.
The last man is very far from poor.

poem by Yvette Carbajal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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