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Deals with the feeling you get when you do the right thing.


Submitted:Nov 28, 2007    Reads: 121    Comments: 0    Likes: 2   


Clouds of pale fog

reach out from his dry lips

The cold of the December

was never more evident


In front of his belongings

is a spent Mcdonalds milkshake, requesting spare change

I watch as the busy festive shoppers

trample the make shift purse


Coins of the bronze persuasion roll away

scattered under the holiday rush

Still under the warm spell of sleep

he breathes into the freezing air


Stepping into the arena of help

collecting the money and repositioning his damaged flask

I release from my possession a folded note

which will pay for his Christmas breakfast


I choose to move the collection

closer to his sleeping mass

My words of "and a happy new year"

greeted by the strong smell of tobacco and whisky


As I move away and the shop door way fades

I feel the rush of goodwill breeze my soul

But as the first flakes of Yule snow fall

my thoughts return to his exposed ageing body


I wonder if he will indeed wake

to see and spend the small deposits

The good people of London

have left in this all too brief period of giving





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