For the love of the written word

A Smile at Christmas

Painting by Ilir Pojani (Source: Fine Art American)

Painting by Ilir Pojani (Source: Fine Art American)

This little boy I saw across–

the park, and watched his pallid face.

In tattered clothes he was dressed

It looked so awfully old and grey.

What was in his mind, I couldn’t say

He neither looked worried nor depressed.

Walking the path in small, easy steps

He looked so tiny, fragile and weak.

He teetered and trotted for a while until

He landed on my lap to rest.

And then something happened–as though by will

He reached for his pocket and stretched his fingers


for upon his palm was a candy there

offering me his last reserve.

And what was more, it seemed so queer

that such an act like that would appear

from an innocent child who should know more

than let go of his only spare.

I couldn’t say if I cried or smiled

He looked at me with such tranquility and strength

Why should he smile when I gave him–

not a single cent for the candy shared?

But I know now he wouldn’t have cared.

Giving was all he ever dared.


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