Helpless

Unable to handle my own finances well
(despite my relative prosperity)
how can I give to so many others
in such urgent need?

As I read about the droughts and famines
or the homeless or the refugees
I just feel helpless, as you perhaps have done,
when faced with so much desperation.

Yet there may be things I could do
to scrimp a little, like eating less
or going to fewer cafés or bars
or giving up smoking or forsaking travel.

Such small changes might create a surplus
with which to help, to offer
my tiny drop in the ocean, to donate
to any of a hundred N.G.O.s
and face old age with a quiet belief
that I'm doing my bit.

by Robert Melliard

Other poems of MELLIARD (156)

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