She was a
child of the streets,
that girl and her dog.
Yes, a girl, no woman yet,
swaddled in blankets on the winter
thoroughfare in the rain.Her dog, as dogs do,
gazed sadly at the future of hunger and
cold.
I had come
out of a French restaurant
where I had eaten well, with my wife of
dreams.
I gave
that girl the last five pounds in my wal[et,
but there would be more.
ln the busy evening that girl returned to
me
the gift of poetry as I felt for her and
the others
I have known of the cold arithmetic of
the streets.
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