Beyond imposing gates there lies the place

Where charming children of the leisure class

Live out their carefree days at tranquil pace

And play patrician games on greener grass.

Across the street stands shyly a small boy

In beggarly attire all wet by rain 

He watches bound by grief and craves the joy

Which he is never destined to attain.

The view before him puzzles and defies

His dream of justice on this cheerless day.

He shakes his head, draws closer still and sighs,

But then he bites his lip, turns back and walks away

~Eton Langford~