"Ouch!" said the boy as the red started flowing
From the tip of his finger that through glove was showing
His finger found mouth, which ****** out the blood
Wrapping 'round digit and cloth and cold mud
He glanced side to side to see if they saw
But the people, like streets, would come out with the thaw
The redness still flowed and it dripped in the snow
The boy didn't care; he knew just where to go
He tugged at his pants and fixed his torn hat
His jacket surrounded like skin on stray cat
The footsteps he took were with strength and conviction
Like the master of dungeons in his favorite fiction
He went toward the beacon: The trashcan on fire
His savior would be there by bright, burning, pyre
He looked 'round the checkpoint, but failed to find
The man who would always give peace to the mind
Others were there; they were kin of his kin
The men with hair matted and open-scabbed skin
But the man who would help him, the man who had cared
His father, was absent, and the boy was now scared
His finger, still bleeding, was numb with the cold
The boy looked around for the man who would hold
A man saw the boy, and gave a half-hearted shout
Boy eagerly waited for man to come out
The little crowd parted, and his father appeared
He looked a bit different, maybe it was the beard?
Before it was long, like an overgrown lawn
Today he had **** whacked, and the face-rug was gone
The man looked at boy, at finger with red
He tutted and clasped a bare hand to his head
Man reached into pocket and pulled out a band-aid
Boy peeled his glove back to receive the hand-aid
The man covered cut and pulled the boy close
This hug was his medicine; the desired dose
The man took boy's hand and led him away
From the fire in trashcan; he said they couldn't stay
The man told the boy, "Guess what I've got?
I've got us a room! And we've both got a cot!"
Son looked to Father; he'd really come through
And they walked off in the light of the love beaming true