THE CHILD OF THE GUTTER

 

So sweet and tender was this child!

She was seen by all and yet known by few,

Bred in the slums and in the garbage she grew

She was born in the gutter, she lived in the wild.

 

“‘tis a slum”- They’d all say.

“’Her fate is written on her head”

They’d emphasise emotions of dread,

And shrug their shoulders and silently walk away.

 

Hordes of them stood by the tracks that day,

A few of them stood as witnesses to the scene.

And yet stood none shown to be as keen,

As to save her sweet life, a small price to pay.

 

A few saw her feet, they all saw the train.

Several of them rushed to get out of the way.

Our dear child tried to move, but her feet chose to stay.

She looked at them for help, they looked back in disdain.

 

The train had finally pulled away.

Her shrieks and cries didn’t last long.

A child of the slum- she had been born wrong,

A corpse left in the gutter is where she will stray.

 

“‘tis a slum”- They’d all say.

“’Her fate is written on her head”

They’d emphasise emotions of dread,

And shrug their shoulders and silently walk away.

 

Bred in the slums and in the garbage she grew

She was born in the gutter, she lived in the wild.

A beautiful angel, this pretty child,

To the arms of heav’n, to her fate she flew. 

-Damian Don Williams