The Birthday Present Poem by tim woodhouse

Taking the short cut along the gravel path I often had to stop,
Avoiding dog dirt, syringes and discarded waste,
Before turning left towards the corner shop
For cigarettes, newspapers, bread and sandwich paste
And then back home to finish routine chores
As dull, oppressive backstreets blocked my pores.

A lady with a brightly coloured bag
Knocked upon a door and called, 'It's me! '
Before a gleeful child let out a laugh,
Welcoming her in so I could see
A sudden scene of warmth and real meaning
Which put things in a slightly clearer light,
Happy, glowing cheeks with cheerful greetings
Which made me just a little less uptight
And made me think that this is what life is:
Simple acts of love and faith and kindness,
Birthday parties, cakes and happy smiles
And presents for a small, excited child.