A story in the paper during the Holiday Season was the basis for my writing this poem.
Paul J. Stam
Beside the flowing drainage ditch,
The little child sleeps.
The sitting mother seldom smiles,
And very often weeps.
A block away the K-Mart lot
Is filled with shiny cars.
A child with a brand new toy,
Has no apparent scars.
In the lot the Christmas trees
Have all just gone on sale.
That means nothing to this hungry child,
Fevered, sick and pale.
The scrawny tree gives little shade,
Nor protection from the rain.
Pretty words are little help,
To an abandoned mother’s pain.
The wall behind is strong and stout
Shielding from prying eyes.
Well made to keep the bullies out,
Muffling a hungry child’s cries.
Paradise the place is called,
With mountains to the sea.
Tourist drop money everywhere,
But not at the scrawny tree.
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