The child passed by my seat with empty palms
And begged for love to fill its soulful eyes.
For 'twas not hunger nor the need for alms
That left the waif so piteous in guise.
She had her home, if four walls and a roof
Was all the meaning she should yet require;
But in that place all hearts remained aloof,
A negligence deserving of all ire.
She stood in place; I stood and turned my face.
A sonnet petit. In Mongolia I saw many children beg on the streets and in restaurants. The things in this world that should not be!