The dawn is slowy drawing nigh,
The birds are softly chirping,
At this time, where others softly lie,
A soul is already working.

Bent over stacks of books,
Under the dim light of a candle,
A student, poor and haggard looks,
Wistfully at Michael Dell, his idol.

"Someday I'll be him" he says,
"And have millions of dollars,
From my house up high I'll gaze,
At working people and basketballers."

"I'd use my wealth to help the poor,
I'd pay to cure diseases, and bury the dead,
I'd be a hero through history and lore,
"The afflicted were cured" will be whats said!"

His mother enters as he resumes his load,
A bowl of hot soup, for the carrier of her hopes.
'Dear, pray , for as your life unfolds,
God will be the one who'll untie those ropes"

So a sincere prayer is uttered,
To Him who grants us strength,
That God might aid he who stutters,
And help us walk life's length.

To school he went, for many a year,
Graduated from Yale with a buisness degree,
Got a job with Microsoft to get into gear,
And promptly started a company, for all to see.

Soon his dreams came true,
He was a millionaire,
But power and gold were like the flu,
And his millions he didn't share.

His money fueled his desires,
Both wicked and despicable,
His desires brought scheming liars,
The lustful whores and all undesirable.

And in a hut, outside the city,
A mothers mourn is heard.
Cast aside with audacity,
Betrayed by her very own baby bird

Vinsant Huang©2003