Tuesday, 15 March 2011

The Little Flower Girl

See the little flower girl, dirty face and tangled hair,
Do people show her kindness, do they even care?
With a basket full of roses, she loudly sings out her wares,
Walking through streets with other traders, as they shout, 'ripe plums and lovely pears!'

At night, her home is a rookery, full of squalor, bearness and damp,
Perhaps she is lucky enough to posses a table, for a candle or a lamp, 
She sleeps soundly enough, after a crust of bread, and saying a prayer,
Dreaming of a better life, than the one she has to bear.  

Maisie, How could You?

Maisie what do you see from your  bedroom window as you dress yourself  with ease?
Don`t you see what goes on outside where children cough and sneeze?
Dressed in  tattered shoes and rags, they want for food every day,
Laden in jewels, you loudly shout, and then cruely shoo them away!

The Costermonger

Billingsgate crabs, or lovely apples, ten shillings the lot!
The coster will sell you all that he`s got.
He`ll sell under moon light, he won`t feel the cold,
But there, by street lamp and candle, we see his desperation unfold,
`Get your welks `ere,` he bellows, across at the market place crowd,
To be heard above the pie man, you gotta  shout loud.

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