The same little girl stood on the corner
of Swan street selling her flowers
A carnation for your lady, she called.
I guessed her age to be about nine
Her clothes shabby yet clean.
Someone must care for her
I feel she should be at home.
The weather had turned bitter
Her face and hands the colour of a red rose
I could do little to help
but buy the carnation offered.
This I did, two or three times a week
Hoping I was helping.
For a week now I have not seen her
I asked the man selling newspapers
He told me she had succumbed to the cold.
I had not given her enough help after all
I should have provided her with a warm blanket
Warm boots. I knew she had to stand there
To help her family to survive.
I hope she has all the flowers she wants
In heaven…
©anitadawes
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