There was a child in Paris, and a sparrow in the forest; the sparrow was called the sparrow, and the child was called the wild child.
You combine these two concepts—the one that implies the entire furnace, the other that implies the entire dawn—you bring the two sparks of Paris and children into contact, and a little man will burst forth.This little fellow, Plautus might call him little brother.
The little one is happy.He doesn't necessarily have something to eat every day, but as long as he is happy, he can go to entertainment places every day.He has no shirt, no shoes on his feet, no roof over his head; he is like a fly in the air, and he has none of these things.He was between the ages of seven and thirteen, living in groups, wandering the streets, sleeping out in the wild, wearing his father's ragged trousers, dragging the heels of his shoes, and wearing another father's ragged hat, Pressed over ears, wearing half a pair of yellow-edged suspenders, running around, looking left and right, searching, wandering, smoking a pipe until black, full of foul language, sitting in a liquor store, befriending thieves, teasing kiln sisters, and talking black , Singing obscene songs, but there is no bad idea in my heart.That's because there is a pearl in his soul -- innocence, the pearl will not dissolve in the mud.In childhood, God always wants him to be innocent.
If someone asked the metropolis, "What is that?" it would answer, "That is my child."
