She clutched the broken objects,

Held them to her chest.

They constantly mocked her life,

Called it a mess.

But they couldn’t see the tears,

All she needed was compassion.

To erase all her present fears,

Not a stranger’s pitiful satisfaction.

They who were heartless

Unexpressed,

Just passed her and the little street corner,

The “dirty, burdened, mess.”

She was a lonely little girl,

Money, a home, needed,

Not a single shimmering pearl.

For love, she simply pleaded.

Lost and found, countless things unwanted.

They were just like the homeless child

Sullen, quiet, abandoned, haunted,

A being reconciled.

And one cold, wintery night,

The young girl, somewhat colder.

A chivalrous old man in sight,

Approached her little home on the corner.

“Child,” he whispered, age on his kind face.

“I have a place for you,

Containing never ending grace.

A home for those in need,

A home for those with faith.

Come away with me,

You will be safe.

No harm will come upon you,

A promise of everlasting grace.”

And with his gentle words upon her,

She took his outstretched hand.

She got a warm feeling inside,

The source of warmth from the old man.

He led her to a golden staircase,

Light emanating from the land.

This was her new home,

And the man in white before her,

Welcomed her with outstretched hands.

“Welcome home, my child,” he said.

“Yours was a hard life, and you were kind.”

She smiled, crystal tears pricking her eyes.

Back at her corner, a frostbitten morning,

Lay a child in her sleep, never to wake again,

For over the night of the winter blizzard,

She, in her young age, had frozen.

And the strangers passed her,

Broken objects held to her chest.

The never ceased mocking her life,

They didn’t even know she was dead.