A child upon the doorstep weeps
ignored from passers-by,
She wipes away her lonely tears
With sagging woollen sleeve,
Locked out to play alone within
That bleak and terraced street,
Where pavements act as gardens
And throughout the city weave.
They grow beside each narrow road
With litter as the flowers,
That yield a harsh and pungent stench
Through red-bricked valley walls,
The only green the moss that lies
Between the kerbs of stone,
She cries out for her mother
But on deafened ears it falls.
A child upon the doorstep weeps
Neglected and abused,
Her socks once white as grey now
As the winter skies above,
She wears to hide the bruises
That she wished she could forget,
But she's never known no other life
And never tasted love.
ANDREW BLAKEMORE
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-child-upon-the-doorstep-weeps/
