I am a child,
Hurting but no one loves.
Take a loaf sugar, soon melting in hand.
Stand by the wayside,
Looking at the crowd come and go.

I hope
A warm hand holds
Tight and tight — to hold tight me.

Pulling me,
Cutting through the crowd,
Walking into a place
With only grass and fresh flowers.

Smile at me
Right after.

I smiled,
But still stand in the wayside.

The loaf sugar in my hand
Makes the small hand dirty again,
Sticky again.

Those hands are gone forever.

I dropped the sugar cube,
Rushed into the crowd
Alone.

Then
disappeared.