In the light of autumn and the open road, the boy holds up in his hands not a blossom nor a lantern but beg for help... But, will or can we? Will this little boy destroy our welfare?

The auto-mobiles scan
the freezing camber,
no face showing
from behind
wind-shields,
their eyes
of iron,
their cars
set again everything,
their gear-teeth quick
as flash of lighting,
skidding
towards the sea and the cities.

While an autumn-boy
with begging,
standoffish
as a thistle,
hard as a flint,
raises
there a hand
to the shudder-sighs
of the cars.
Nobody
slows down.

What happens
with our
society ?
Can we or shall we
HELP?
What is the answers ?
Do we know the
answered ?