Crust and Crock

A cradled infant was once abandoned and left to wiggle its toes,
Without a bath for seven years, the boy grew on a layer of mud as clothes,
He forgot about his true skin and fell fond of this newfound rage,
Black was he from day to night, and little did he wish to change,
Hunters from a faraway camp stumbled on him during one chase,
And each fell with fright to the sight of what was not of any race,
“A forsaken thing with no right to live!” cried out the furious flock,
As they fired a rainfall of arrows at the intruder of crust and crock.

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