The little boy lay in his bed,
A pillow underneath his head.
His pale face lay in troubled sleep -
He need not even wake to weep.
On the shelves there stand his toys,
The ones who brought him many joys.
They yearn to be touched by little hands -
The buckets to be filled with sand.
The cars want to see out the door,
But the toys or the child will see no more.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
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