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.