Running down the alley of my memory
caught a frail child peeping out a window
counting the stars as she looks up
unmindful that tears streak her cheeks...
Still staring at the second floor
saw this child move her lips in prayer
so quiet only her heart must have heard
or the cactus lining the window shelf...
Some days this child needed to walk
when her coins fall short of the fare
or part with some when she needed to share
but this does not make her tears fall...
One day this child needed to see
a beggar woman with a suckling child
dirty, scarred and bereft by the roadside
All coins are given no thoughts aside...
Every Christmas evening all celebrate
the coming of a Savior a child knew not
She can only see darkness, doubt and pain
heartaches a few coins cannot alleviate...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem