My struggle to get overly into the seasonal celebrations this year brings to mind those who may WISH to get into the season more, but are struggling for various other reasons. Maybe they’re alone, don’t have the fiscal means to enjoy it or provide shelter, or are stuck in places they don’t wish to be (varying examples, such as being stuck in a warzone, hospital or other unhappy scenario). And while humans by nature may try to make the best of things as much as they can, no matter the situation, it doesn’t marry up to the joy of being in a safe place with safe company.
The young girl stood on the bustling streets,
Feet bare with rain-soaked clothes,
Clutching close to her a tatty, thin cloak.
She offers her modest wares to any who’d buy them:
A small, woven basket full with freshly picked holly
And clusters of seasonal mistletoe
Instead of the flowers she’d sell for summer,
Hoping to save enough to buy something warm for her to eat.
For it’s the season of celebration and joy,
Of Holly decorating mantles, mistletoe dressing doors,
And warm food and a warm hearth.
But, not so for the young girl stood on the streets.
Her family gone and no home to return to,
She huddles, shivering, at the side of the road,
Tatty, thin cloak pulled tightly around
Her ever thinning frame as she fights to keep herself warm,
Fights to stay fed and fights to stay alive,
By selling flowers in summer to those who will buy them,
And at Christmas the freshly picked holly and seasonal mistletoe,
To call in the season that should be full of warm food and happiness,
With a warm hearth and warm company.
Where will she go, and how long will she be there?
How long will she manage to fight off the cold that infects her-
Freezing her fingers and icing her lungs,
Bitter, choking cough racking her entire small frame,
When all she desires is a place that is warm,
With warm food and a warm hearth and warm company,
That’ll help her to fight off the cold that infects her.
And the loneliness of being forgotten and left to the streets,
By the family long gone, deceased,
And those who pass her, unseeing, walk by on the streets,
Ignoring the young flower girl standing alone by the road,
Trying to sell freshly picked holly and seasonal mistletoe,
So people can decorate their mantles and dress their doors,
In their warm houses with warm hearths,
While this young girl fights off the infecting cold.
She’ll be in company soon, though the sad thing is,
It’ll be the family that once left her alone on the streets,
For they are deceased and while this girl stands alone,
In the cold, ignored by those who bustle past in the street,
She slowly fades with the cold that infects her,
And Death is the only one who’ll stand with her.
