It was without a thought,
to wander aimlessly
through neighbourhoods unknown,
strange dogs
loud unfamiliar sounds
and glances from beneath
the shade of straw chapeaux,
one must be seen
and catalogued
things shall be orderly
and idle be no mind.
To be so drawn to all,
tradition's heavy hand,
born into prejudice
the nod of a strange god
the stifler of all matters free.
No, not alone,
a cradle's proud mirage,
walks by
as if by chance
there would be life
to spring eternally
an awkward dance.
Yes,
and I thank thee
who is holding out two hands,
I shall,
with gratitude agree
to take
and wait for it to be,
forever is the word,
I reckon when I wake
it will be known
that he,
the little one...
he understands.

Herbert Nehrlich 2

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-little-fellow-2/