I could see his blue sweatshirt was torn
The pain inflicted shone on his face
The vulgarity of it tore at my heart
There grew a longing to help
I noticed white feathers drop beside the young boy
Which told me an angel was watching over him
An old saying popped into mind
Trouble follows trouble
Is there a way to bluff your way through life?
Will he end up with butterflies and rainbows?
He lay on the park bench as people jostle by
I sit opposite, catching a glimpse of him
Like looking through a slatted window
His life in small slices
Is there a way to double his luck?
What a pity I am not his fairy godmother
I would take away the terrible fate I fear for him
I hope the white feather has some merit…
© Anita Dawes 2021