Cold and Lost

She sits alone on the cold, dirty pavement looking despondent and lost her small voice request pleadingly 'any loose change miss' I see her most days on my way to work wonder at her age, her history and ask myself 'where is her mum'? The first snowflakes begin to fall as I sit before a roaring fire I think of her out there alone, freezing and hungry of her small voice as she begs it is dark outside my window- I know she must be afraid try to put myself in her shoes Weeks pass and I take her hot drinks- from McDonald's I do it as much for me as her, to ease my conscience a christian act but its not enough snow begins to fall again, settling on the cold hard ground her lightweight coat insufficient A long weekend of roast and rest- time of reflection Monday soon arrives and she is no longer there I search along the road- shop doorways-she is lost and I pray she has found refuge her hot drink handed to another. Another weekend, a newspaper spread on my table of plenty tea steaming in a mug and the aroma of roasting meat I see her photo- I read her story- dead, it says 'Sarah, found at seventeen, deceased-from the cold I cry for her-for the future she will never now have.