Azrael's Whispers

The Children At The Corner

As the snow feel down in gentle seeps...
The little, white haired child sat by the side of the street.

Daily she sat there, by the side of the street... With her cup for alms...
But no one noticed.

Her clothes were ragged and thin...
Her skin was white as milk.
Her arms lay limp at her sides, and her legs stretched out before her.

Alone, she sat there, by the side of the street...
With her cup for alms...
But no one noticed.

The genteel-folk, in their nice, warm garbs, never saw her.
She was insignificant... Beneath them... Just another beggar.

So, she sat there, by the side of the street...
With her cup for alms...
But no one noticed.

In the night, a storm came and people ran.
They closed their windows...
Shut their doors.
But no one saw the little girl in the corner...
Bent over.

Indeed, she sat there, by the side of the street...
With her cup for alms...
But no one noticed.

The snow feel three days.
The last day, a full moon shone.
At the corner of Main Street,
A commotion arose.

Down by the baker's shop,
They said...
A child was found dead.

She was hunched over, frozen in ice.
In her icy embrace was another one.
Covered in thin blankets, and pale as death.

Both pulled apart.
It become apparent.
The child was indeed, a beggar...

And the little one with her,
Her brother.

They were taken to the morgue...
While the commoner mothers mourned.

They were buried at the local cemetery...
Underneath an apple tree...

And as their bodies were lowered,
Their gentle souls were covered,
With love and happiness,
Now in the hands of of their maker.

And as they played together in celestial splendour,
The coroner wrote in his report, the date of death...

The wee ones,
Who sat alone at the coroner,
Ignored by everyone,

Died on Christmas morn...