A mother all alone with no aspirations to cope.
Dressed all in rags with no expectations of hope.
Left alone with child, cold, poor, homeless, forlorn.
On Church steps, she gently laid down, her first born.
Left on the church steps within moments of birth.
One of God’s children with merit and worth.
Hoping she’s found by Church staff, wrapped snug and alive.
Expecting she’d grow up securely, a good life to survive.
But a passing pauper, seen by chance she was found.
Then taken away, to grow up, back on impoverished ground.
A foundling they called Alice after their own troubled mum.
To merely journey a life, destitute, lonely and troubled some.
Alice lived in their home, with broken windows, no door.
To now be a young foundling, to support pauper’s poor.
She was taught from infancy to work with her hands.
For the support of custodians and to work to demands.
Alice made tiny posies from earth’s wild flowers and weeds.
To sell out on the streets to help cover their needs.
Perfecting her posies throughout days and at night.
To consistently support, now was Young Alice’s plight.
Alice’s young fingers were sore, pitted and scarred.
But they made her work on, her child times were hard.
All days were hard for young hands with tiny shears.
Many a days’ posies, watered with Young Alice’s tears.
One day Young Alice was found, lain lifeless and cold.
Still clutching frozen posies, prettily formed, but unsold.
She now rests in that same church yard, no marker no stone.
There were no kin folk for Young Alice, she died all alone.
No more toil or hard work, within her young life unsung.
Peace and tranquillity for Alice, now forever young.
No one cried for Young Alice, her life’s story on hold.
Still one of God’s Children, now back in his fold.
There’s a corner in Heaven for Gods’ waifs and strays.
Where Young Alice plays, now enjoying young days.
Young Alice spends time, in Heavenly gardens and bowers.
Loves making God little posies, using celestial flowers.
Playing in sunshine, now always warm, never cold.
Skipping through Heavenly meadows, Alice never grew old…

With regards from Mick Scarles
(SW19 expat)