Humanitarian Help Worker - Poem by Mark Heathcote
Where so many before you closed the door
Instead, you went to answer their SOS call
You, yourself went 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 in hunger.
Wouldn't have to plummet like leaves aflutter
In autumn fall sadly, always into slumber.
In numbers, that'd make 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 upon
And yet you do it all unheard and unperturbed.
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