~~ The Urchin ~~
Tattered clothes and woeful heart, the orphan child that night.
No food or drink was thrown his way, poorness was his plight.
His thread bare sleeves and rag tied shoes, aye,
they were old.
No soul cared for him as he shivered in the freezing cold.
His face, a look of hopelessness and eyes filled with despair,
as standing there and sending pleas into the frigid air.
No earthly soul would pay him mind, offers went unsaid.
That night he would not feel the warmth of any kind of bed.
With all his strength he huddled there in lonely blameless shame,
for he was a child of poverty, no man called him by his name.
A time had been that he did eat and drink to his content,
lived a life of happiness 'til by mother's death this world was went.
Those days were far in the past and would never be again,
though a child of God he was, the world was cruel that he lived in.
To a man he would not grow, his life
it ebbed away from him.
On a lonely street of many men, he received no help from them.
His lifeless form lay in plain sight, for all of them to see.
Passing as a piece of trash they went, overlooking thee.
Then Angels came to lift him up, to heaven he was bound.
New and full of happiness, his ravished body again was sound.
The urchin of the street was no more lost nor was he cold.
He lived in God's richest love, and had His hand to hold.
© Norma Marek ~ 7 August 2001
Please respect author copyright, do not use or copy
poetry without first seeking permission from the author.
Midi used with permission from Margi Harrell ~
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