For Tommy was a crippled boy
He could not run and play
His mother sat him in a corner
And then she went away.
He had no food to eat, or blanket
To keep him warm and no one
Passed this darkened place to hear
The cripple morn.
Little Tommy was so weak
He was cold and he was
Scared so he softly cried;
'Somebody' come and take me,
Come and take me away from here.
God sent a special angel when He
Heard the young boys cry, and now
Little Tommy runs and plays in his
Heavenly home on high.
A poem is just a poem but not
To a little child, for I still
Remember Tommy and I smile.
"Even so it is not the will of your Father which is in heaven that one of
these little ones should perish."
Written by Betty J. Banks
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