affection

Sharply rebuked by men in any manner

of fancy uniforms, swarming like night

creatures, beetling to disappear from the feared

lamplight, trampled but alive, beggars abound.

Found squatting on a wooden trolley with casters,

a basket full of matches for wretched sale,

his failing sight straining to identify likely

spenders, he waits legless and squeaking for attention.

Plenty of thin-lipped gipsies, grimly

cupping a palm after holding up a supper-less

baby - able to plead with silent telling

eloquence for a fairer share of the fairy's wealth.

When looking round at every gutted face,

then who am I to flaunt my unearned grace?