Babatunde Idowu Ebenezer
The African Child
His voice for the hundredth time mumbled
'Spare some change for the poor boy'
His eyes twinking even in the crepsular light.
His discalceate feet hardly moving at all,
Yet he was moving.
Then came the voice again:
'God loves a cheerful giver'
The metal porringer in his metacarpus gleaming.