by Terrence Aym

Created on: November 26, 2009

The room: white, austere and cold,
Not a pleasant place to be.
And there sitting on the floor,
Two frightened children of three.

"Who are they?" she asked the Watcher,
A man colder than the room.
"They are the leftovers, the little lost ones,
The sweepings from the broom."

"Who would sweep little children like these,
Into a room like this?"
He stared at the floor and shrugged diffidently,

"Does it make any difference, Miss?"

"These children are human beings,
Not garbage to be abandoned.
They're precious souls needing warmth,
Kindness and understanding."

"No Ma'am," he said and glared at her,
Stabbing her heart with his glance.
"They are just dust bites in the wind,
The children of throwaway chance."

"How dare you judge the innocent,
And keep them in this place!
How dare you rob them of their joy,
It's an outrage - a disgrace!"

A curling sneer played on his lips,
His eyes began to glower.
"They are leftovers Ma'am, just leftovers,
Never intended to flower.

"They came into this cold harsh place,
Because they are forgotten.
They receive no love, warmth or grace,
For these children are unwanted."

"I want them both!" she almost screamed.
"I'm taking them to my home.
They aren't leftovers, unwanted dust,
To be abandoned and left alone."

"Whatever you want is fine with me,
They warned me you were weird.
They said that you were one of them,
And a person to be feared."

AS the woman enfolded them in her arm,
They cried upon her shoulder,
And struggled somewhat in alarm,
As she held them closer.

The Watcher watched the woman leave,
With the little ones now free.
She was a legend throughout the land,
Known simply as "Miss Liberty."

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