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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