Sonnet XVIII

The afternoon is done, a bus I take.
The ride is dull, the same routine each day.
I take a book, and read the whole long way,
But time goes slowly past, unhurried still.

The bus has stopped, to drop some children off.
I see a car outside, and look within.
A baby, tucked inside, gives little grins,
Alone and quiet, small and vulnerable.

I wonder where the baby’s parents are.
Surrounded only by apartments there,
The child is lone, and still I mutely stare.
I wonder how this child will grow up.

This present world is cruel and cold and stark.
It’s truly sad how we must learn the truth.