To the Orphan

I know you always dream of Rome.
A basket full of fresh baguette
And your favourite Russian roulette.

Many more birthdays are yet to come.
Do not mind what your groanings say
Find a ravens nest, calmly lay.

Hurry up and make it your home.
Worn out clothes cannot tear your heart
Nor will the night’s cold steal your art.

A few sticks can build you a dome.
Hunger can comb with a passion
Tears, pity is out of fashion.

Do not shrivel like a sad gnome.
Rocks and stones can soften to bread
Let this thought sip into your head.

Vera