The Past

The shadows and cobwebs, of bygone days,
Little urchins, living their ways.
Their faces all grubby, and eyes full of tears,
They looked much older, than their years.

Living in the dirt and dark,
Nowhere to play, not even a park.
No green fields, or buttercups too,
We were more fortunate, me and you.

Scuffy clothes, and a dirty scarf,
Hands outstretched, and with a sad laugh,
They would plead, for just a crumb,
Walk the streets, until they were numb.

Nobody cared about their plight,
As they wandered through the endless night.
Hapless and a homeless, burdened by sorrow,
Praying there would be a new tomorrow.

So my poem came form the past,
I hope they are happy, now at last,
Those poor souls, from the dark of night,
Into the arms of Eternal Light.

by Winifred Booth

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