Humanitarian Help Worker - Poem by Mark Heathcote
Where many have before you close the door
Instead, you want to answer their SOS, call
You - yourself go hungry and furthermore
You helped the weak the very, small stand, tall.
You helped them out of squalor, the gutter
So they wouldn't have to crawl with hunger.
Or have to plummet like leaves aflutter
In autumn fall sadly, always in that slumber.
In numbers, that'd made your mind go numb,
Heaving and crying in pain, praying for a crumb.
You helped feed them, so they didn't succumb,
So they too could carry on living, years to come.
A humanitarian mission is what you were on
In your heart, there is nothing in this world
You or other like-minded, can't improve on
And yet you do it all unheard and unperturbed.
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