A Child Upon The Doorstep Weeps

A child upon the doorstep weeps ignored from passers-by, She wipes away her lonely tears Upon her woollen sleeve, Locked out to play alone within That bleak and terraced street, Where pavements act as gardens And throughout the city weave. They lie beside each narrow road Where litter grows like flowers, The stench so hard to bear within Those red-bricked valley walls, The only green, the moss that lies Between the kerbs of stone, She cries out for her mother But on deafened ears it falls. Her head is bowed unto the ground And to those dreary slabs, On which she's stared so often That she knows each groove and crack, Her teardrops stain the pathway And her worn out buckled shoes, Which many times have run away But always led her back. A child upon the doorstep weeps Neglected and abused, Her socks once white as grey now As the winter skies above, She wears to hide the bruises That she wished she could forget, But she's never known no other life And never tasted love.