The horrible, cold, bitter wind crept into my box. Under a large oak tree, in a busy park, living in a box wasn’t very pleasant. “Oh how I wish I was happy,” I would say to myself daily. The smell of food passing as the lucky people walked by filled me with sadness. Hoping someone, just someone would give me anything. But then it happened. One night, I was sleeping, cramped in my box. I dreamt that a stone hand with moss took me and my home to a safe place high in the sky to a person named God.
By Aideen.