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.
Copyright © Julie Achilles | Year Posted 2020
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