The Little People Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

I had a dream today,
my afternoon siesta
had only just begun
and I had drifted off,
when noises from the alley,
where cats and vermin live,
commenced their daily
and disruptive celebration
of life-long dreams to reach
the summit of mediocrity.

A giant step, no doubt,
be born in squalour
and filth of rubbish,
dumped by those who have.

Not many do succeed
in this endeavour,
most cannot jump,
surmount their dull-gray shadows.

How sad, some say
that opportunities do not
exist in some form of equality,
condemning thus -no mercy-
the furry ones forever
to the fate of what is called
the lost world of
the little people.