Street Urchin

No!
My heart does not move
Not any more!

Not even when I see a street urchin,
His hands, soiled, outstretched
Beneath my neck,
His eyes meeting mine
Imploring for help for one more time

Will he hobble and cross the street to
buy a bread that are sold for a dime?
Or will he stagger across the road,
to his boss, who owns him now
Who had chopped off his feet
Clipped off his wings
and send him here to beg?.

No!
My heart does not move!
Not any more!

How can it move?
It is stoned and lifeless,
peeled off its feel.