Big Boy Lost, Little Boy Found Poem by Dan Brown

A little boy sits in the street,
Six feet tall and size 12 feet.
Six feet tall and size 12 feet,
A little boy sits alone in the heat.

He gets no attention, for no one knew
Just what this poor lost boy was going through.
Just what this poor lost boy was going through,
Was kept a secret, a secret for you.

Unkempt hair, mature chin,
He sits depressed, still as a bin.
He sits depressed, still as a bin,
Ashen-faced and painfully thin.

Who does he belong to, no one knows,
Dirt under his fingernail’s, shoes showing his toes.
Dirt under his fingernail’s, shoes showing his toes,
No tissue to wipe his streaming nose.

His cheeks look like driveways cleared of snow,
Where tears have forged paths, with nowhere to go.
Where tears have forged paths, with nowhere to go,
This poor lost boy, feeling so low.

Frozen solid yet dripping in sweat,
His wet, swollen eyes are not met.
His wet, swollen eyes are not met,
Like an invisible gargoyle on the kerb he is set.


Shunned…. Excluded…. Thrown away.
Abandoned…. Forgotten…. Every day.

Hurt and anger stung and bit,
As he scrabbled around in the dirt and grit.
As he scrabbled around in the dirt and grit,
The loneliness, betrayal and reality hit.

He holds back his tears, for only children cried,
Now it is time to move and hide.
Now it is time to move and hide,
In life’s own court he has been tried.

A grip of hate consumes empty spaces,
It chokes out memories of people and places.
It chokes out memories of people and places,
Strangling images, his heartbeat races.

Finally, finally, he heard a sound,
Pale and desperate, he swung around.
Pale and desperate, he swung around,
This big boy lost, was a little boy found.