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EDGES MAGAZINE Issue 23 |
October 2000 |
"SHIVERING” she said.
When we see someone sitting there, down
on the ground,
head bowed, mittens, a blanket wrapped round.
Chance is,
we hasten our steps and pass by
“not my affair” - yet, we ask
ourselves “why?”.
Row with their parents? So, walked out the
door?
Pressure from peer groups? Or, maybe much more.
Shameful
behaviour? Drugs? Weighed down with worry?
They may want to go home, but
just can’t say “I’m sorry”.
Alright! Maybe a fraud;
‘own fault they are there,
no home, unwashed, and all straggly their
hair.
And if I do help them, I feel I’ve been done,
yet each of
them, somebody’s daughter or son.
There’s so many fellers,
that it’s just not on!
(My excuse is, I can’t help every one).
But when it’s a lassie, that bangs at my head.
I just can’t
pass her by, despite all that is said.
She’s perhaps twenty or so;
it’s a real freezing day.
Her cigs close at hand ( to keep some cold
away).
I asked her: “What on earth are you doing there?”.
“Shivering”, she said, and then just “thank you, sir”.
It’s so like repeating: “No room at the Inn”.
So,
what’s the solution? (‘Can’t even begin).
Whatever their
reason, I admit I don’t know;
still, we have no excuse for treating
them so.
- Winter 1997. Rev John McNamara. Bolton |
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