Poor Boy's Easter Day Poem by Sossi Khachadourian

I don't have flowers of sun
The destiny took them away and gone
Even i don't have colored eggs
At this blissful Easter days
I don't have golden combs
To comb this dirty hair of mine
And my shoes are jugged and old
And it's already Easter day to hold
My little brother's hand
And go to our old church
but how I'll go?
People will make fun of me i know
And i can hear them when they say
'Oh how a dirty grimy his hair is'
'Oh God look to his old nasty shoes'
'What is doing this poor boy here'
'Oh Tom my son don't go near
then you become infected if you go near
that beggar boy so stay here'
And at the end ill return home
To tear at my bed alone