The Street Children

They stretched on pavement From weariness of doing nothing Under a sky, warm and bright The shops were closed, the lights were out The imagination took off to the Milky Way Smoke cleared up the fog in mind The road was empty save for the crouching shadows They went higher and higher, with the rising fumes For ground was not their destiny They exhaled clouds of smoke Through which they saw the door To Heaven, open and unguarded And they fell asleep on the stony floor As if it were the bed of rose.