He was born in the city He was born with no name They found him wraped in a blanket On a cold November day An old carboard box was his first home The one that born him must be feeling alone The poor little thing will never know her nor his dad He sleeps now in a crib safe and warm Warm milk and a bath administered by gentle hands Love and affection surround him in white Just one little baby that was saved in the night
Reason for writing:
Had to write this after reading a story in the paper.
Birth sign: Not entered
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