Merry Yuletide.

The Alley
*********************

She shuffles along the dark gloomy street.
Pushing her trolley of bottles and cans.
Old coat on her shoulders, torn shoes on her feet,
Gloves with no fingers cover her hands.

She stops when a stranger passes her by.
She puts out her hand to beg for a dime,
Pretends not to see her or hear her cry
He’s sick of these bums that beg all the time.

Shrugging her shoulders she just calls out aloud,
“Sir could you spare an old lady a meal.
Just a dollar for burgers, I am not too proud,
To eat in the gutter if that’s how you feel.”

The stranger ignores her, goes on his way,
He’s hurrying home to a hot winter feast.
Must hurry home from the place where he prays.
The poor of this world should trouble him least.

Next morning at dawn round the tall Christmas tree,
He laughs with his children and plays on the floor.
His wife smiles with pleasure at the joy she can see,
The smell of cooked turkey wafts through the door.

In a dark gloomy alley, in an old cardboard box,
Next to a trolley with bottles and cans
A Lady lies weeping as she combs her grey locks
With fingers so frozen in fingerless gloved hands.

A knock on the cardboard, she peaks round the edge.
But no-one is there to be seen, just a smell
Of the turkey she sees, the Pudding and veg.
In the distance she hears the sound of sleigh bells.

Robin. A. Spicer © 12.30 a.m.
12/19/2003