Tuesday, January 24, 2006

The Ragpicker Child

(for a little Indian angel)

What do you see when you're looking at me?
My clothes are all tatters, my hair full of fleas.
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My body is battered, my feet always bare,
But I have a heart, and need someone to care.
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A long time ago, I had a mother,
A father, a sister, an aunt, and a brother.
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Where are they now?
The weather is cold. I need someone to love me, someone to hold.
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Each morning at dawn when people start waking,
The fires are all lit, but I huddle shaking.
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The cold and the wet just eats at my bones,
I need someone to love me, someone to hold.
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If I rise very early the pickings are best,
I dodge the night watch man and fight off the rats.
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The other rag pickers, they are my brothers,
My father, my sister, my aunt, and my mother.
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We all need a family, someone of our own,
A fire, and a mother, and love in a home.
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Look in my eyes, I'm just a child.
But my body is old and my head very wise.
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Christmas to me, is like any day,
The rubbish is picked, and the rats chased away.
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So tell me why Christmas is special to some,
And who is this God, and who is his Son?
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Where is he now, can he see me,
As I pick through the rubbish, and scratch at the fleas?
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You tell me this story, a baby was born,
In a manger he lay, with the beasts in a stall.
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And Mary his mother, loved him so much,
But she knew from the start, He was given to us.
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A Gift He was called, from our Father above,
And sent to this earth, for each one to love.
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Can I be this baby, just for a while,
And have someone to love me, and someone to smile.
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And perhaps I'll believe, that the Lord is my helper,
And be not afraid, when man tries to hurt me.
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So next time you see me, see Mary's child,
Not a dirty rag picker, discarded and wild.
..

By Carole Edgecox