Christmas Charity
He watched her all day,
From behind his window,
fascinated by her persistence,
renouncing a wholesome dinner,
the warmth and comfort of a home.
She stood, instead, in the telephone box
calling no one, receiving no one.
Surely if she did not phone anyone
One could assume she was waiting for one.
But no one rang. All Christmas Eve.
The wind blew icy cold and it was clear
she was not adequately clothed.
She must have been suffering a lot.
He wanted to shout to her:
Call it a truce, forget the caller,
come to my humble abode
and rest a while. Here's plenty to eat,
turkey, vegetables, mince pies and cakes
and a warmed red sangria
to pump some blood into your face.
She stayed put until midnight
as winter's blizzard opened its doors,
to herald in the birth of Christ.
Her ghost cared not for this,
and tired out she fell
crumbled dead on the floor
of an abandoned telephone box.
Next day they took her away.
He remained at the window,
angry, wondering the why of it all.
It was days later that he remembered.
Then he felt the terrible shame.
He had not prayed for her at all.
POTW 12/17/2016
Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2016
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