A pleadful-eye he castle my way,
As he attempted to moor,
A distorted toy he struggled with,
That lay upon the floor.
And so in hustle I moved away,
Discorded by the boy at play.
He was a troubled little lad,
To soon the grave had claimed his dad.
A heart of grief sadly bent,
Was my misgiving to comprehend.
His wailing voice and pleading eyes
Disrupted my hurried day,
yet in that hasty minute there, I felt
The child's dismay.
I knelt, I smiled, my smile erased
Sorrow from his tear-filled face,
the joy I felt molested, the usefulness of haste.