A boy [poem]
Media
Part of The Young Citizen: The Magazine for Young People
- Title
- A boy [poem]
- Creator
- Sinco, Arturo
- Identifier
- A Page Of Selected Poems
- Language
- English
- Source
- The Young Citizen : the magazine for young people 6 (5) November 1940
- Year
- 1940
- Subject
- Poems
- Children's poetry
- Rights
-
- Abstract
- The poem is about the boy who lives in the street. He has no family and no home. Nobody takes care of him.
- Fulltext
- THE YOUNG CITIZEN May, 1940 A PAGE OF SELECTED POEMS MAY THE BONTOC MOUNTAINEER By MARCELO COLLANTES The flowers begin to bloom, Songs of birds fill the air; Young and old seem. to beam with joy, For it is lovely May again. * A BOY By ARTURO SINCO As I was walking, one day, down the street, I saw a boy fast sleeping on his seat; His untidy neck and cheeks were red Perhaps because he did not sleep on a bed. A loaf of bread was in the pocket of his shirt) And the nails that aimosl touched it were full of dirt; · His uncombed, curly hair was as black as nightThe boy, indeed, was a pitiful sight. His shirt and pants were in places torn, For weeks unwashed he had them worn, As dusty streets and alleys dark he did roam Because he had no place to call his home. * THE CHURCH TOWER By. MRS. SATURNINA CAPISTRANO Far up in the old church tower Bells are ringing ev'ry hour, Singing ev'ry day this song: Ding, ding, dong! Ding, ding, dong! Hear the" ringing, sweet and cltar, To the people far and near! Singing ev'ry day this song: Ding, ding, dong! Ding, ding, dong! By JUAN BUED W lien I come down from the green high h~ ' To the lowlands and the plain, I f~el that I must go back to the heights, To the pine-covered slopes again. At last, when my errand's done, And the need of the journey's o'er, I'll fling the dust of the plain from my feet, And return to the hills once more. For I'm no kin to the lowlands, Crouched tamely 'neath the sky; i !ong ·for the hard trail tipped in the sun' Tis there I shall live and die. * THE CHILDREN By PABLO MERCED Noisy and troublesome though they may b.e, Ragged and dirty-not pleasant to see, !Jorn in a nipa hut, shabbily dressed, Yet treasures of love dwell in each little breast, Waiting to open: Oh, seek you the key. Feet that shall soon lead, today may' be led, Hands that shall govern are governed instead, Minds w.hose ripe powers the nation shall swayTrain them aright-they will rule us some day. * MANILA BAY By J.M. H. On the bay the ships go sailing, Sailing off to sea, Sailing off to distant countries Where I'd like to be.
- pages
- 178