On a beautiful starry night,
I saw a small boy in ragged clothes,
Walking on the pavement, his home,
Kicking a small stone off his way.
He sat down and looked up at the sky,
His face lit up with joy
As he sat there gazing at the moon!
It looked as if his heart had leaped up
Beholding the moon in the sky
But alas! He could neither read nor write
And so could not pen his feelings
To share it with the world!
Is Illiteracy stealing us of the many
Wordsworths, Shellys and Keats we have?
Perhaps.