The Thinking Poet

 

Christmas Foundling

I found a child alone,

Weeping so pitifully

That waves of grief-communion

Swamped my sight.

"Child", I cried, "what is your woe?"

And as I gazed into those eyes

It seemed all ages’ agony was there.

"The world’s my woe;

Wither man shall lead

There must I go."

Bewildered, I groped to pierce my vision’s gloom;

"But child", I feebly gasped, "where is your home?"

And gentle, pleading eyes made soft reply:

"Within the heart of man, would he make room."

"Ah then", I cried, "who would not take you in!"

And vast indifference soared from cities’ din.

Pity and anger at my throat,

Desperate now I wailed

"Sweet child, does no one care for you,

Does no man see your plight?"

Yet as I raised my anguished cry

The foundling’s eyes reproved:

"I weep not for myself

But for the hearts unmoved."

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2.12.1966

R.R.Cretchley