Lost Boys

In a dream they had diverse toys,
But sadly, some had only one
Which is all we give misfortune's boys
For otherwise they might have none;
No token for their youthful joys
So frequent in the vernal sun
Breeding adolescent noise
Of merriment and nonstop fun.
But when they wake they get no treats
And are never told when they do well
Out on their filthy asphalt streets
Which all too often is the hell
Of virtue being replaced by vice,
With innocence, the admission price.