| Song Of The Orphan |
| I am no one and never will be anyone, for I am far too small to claim to be; not even later. Mothers and Fathers, take pity on me. I fear it will not pay to raise me: I shall fall victim to the mower's scythe. No one can find me useful now: I am too young, and tomorrow will be too late. I only have one dress, worn thin and faded, but it will last an eternity even before God, perhaps. I only have this whispy hair (that always remained the same) yet once was someone's dearest love. Now he has nothing that he loves. - Rainer Maria Rilke |
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