Ting! ting!
a single centavo coin touches the can
echoing like tens of coins
How the child hold his can
So precious, he'd die for it
With trembling hands
that skiny child held the can tight
Sits along the rusty street
Inhaling the city black smoke
Like the oxygen running into patients veins at the hospital
Each heavy breath and hearty moans
slowly fading into the eve
Each stranger's coin
keeps his tiny heart pumping
to which each day, death misses to take him.