ON THE STREET
By Josie Whitehead
He sits upon the cold, hard stone
Quite distanced and so much alone.
He sees the Christmas lights shine out
And crowds of shoppers all about.
Some glance at him, then hurry by.
They do not hear his plaintive sigh.
Their Christmas presents fill their thoughts:
The things they have - those to be bought.
Some well-wrapped children, happy faces
And travellers passing by with cases.
Fathers, mothers, daughters, sons,
Unite once more for Christmas fun.
The cold wind whips with cruel bite
Here where the Christmas lights blaze bright.
He settles for the night ahead,
The pavement as his Christmas bed.
Far from this cheerless, wintry chill,
The Christian churches soon will fill
And families, with Christmas joy,
Think of the birth of one small boy.
His family, too, needed to share
Some simple things from those who care.
Through many years our world’s the same
As that from which that small child came.
Look closely at those on the street -
The ones we seldom wish to meet.
Compared to most they may be few
But that homeless person could be you!
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