Walk Away Poem by Steve Armstrong

I see her sat there,
The little girl, she has nothing,
Not even proper clothes on her back,
Nor shoes on her feet.

Her features are gaunt,
She is malnourished, and mistreated,
It is easy to see, yet no one does,
They just choose to ignore it,
Preferring instead to think of warm houses,
Of log fires, of Christmas dinners,
But she, she has nothing.

As every day passes, I see her,
Always in the same spot,
Always looking with those expectant eyes,
Hoping that someone will take pity,
Will buy her hand made items,
The things she makes from the scraps others throw away,
But they don't even notice her.

Day by day, the snow falls,
Heavier and heavier,
Just like a scene from a Christmas card,
The gables of the houses,
Edged in snow,
The robin sat on the fence, singing away
It all seems so perfect.

I head into the village again,
The first time for a couple of weeks now,
I put off going yesterday, it was too cold, even for me.
Nearing the spot where 'she' always was,
I decided that today i would give a little,
£10. No, £20. It was nothing to me,
But as I rounded the corner,
There was nothing.
No little girl.
No hand made items for sale.
Nothing.

I asked a passer by where she had gone,
A tone of urgency in my voice,
But also a tone of concern,
Where could she be?
Could someone have taken her?
'No, I'm afraid she passed away,
Yesterday in fact.
Mind you, it was bitterly cold.
One could barely leave the house! ! !

Here we were, talking about someones life,
and this person, is talking as though its nothing.
My eyes begin to sting, as the hot tears slowly fall,
Down my cheek, falling onto the snow below.
These were her tears, because, nobody cared.
Because i didn't care, i didn't make the effort,
When i had the chance to help,
I walked away.