|Felons and Festive Fripperies
Author: mrspencil PM
A series of responses to a December challenge by Hades Lord of the Dead. 31st December-Too much champagneRated: Fiction K+ - English - Poetry - Sherlock Holmes & Dr. Watson - Chapters: 28 - Words: 11,848 - Reviews: 222 - Favs: 5 - Follows: 8 - Updated: 12-31-12 - Published: 12-04-12 - Status: Complete - id: 8764392
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
a/n: responses to Hades December challenge. Prompt from SheWhoScrawls - Snowballs.
Holmes and companions do not belong to me
Arthur and the Snowball
A weary young urchin was Arthur;
He'd spent all his life on the streets;
He'd never had parents to speak of,
No family, no caring, no treats.
He slept where he could; in all seasons;
Shop doorways on pavements of stone;
And nobody cared about Arthur,
And everyone left him alone.
He lived by his wits, did young Arthur,
A master pickpocket at eight;
A hand to mouth lonely existence
Entirely dependent on fate.
One cold winter's day saw young Arthur
Exploring the snow-covered park;
He needed a place he could settle,
Before it got colder, and dark.
Huge icicles hung from the branches,
He could see every frost-covered breath;
He looked for a snug nook or cranny
Which would stop him from freezing to death.
As he checked every bush and each hollow,
About to consider defeat;
A snowball flew by and hit Arthur;
And knocked the poor lad off his feet
Quite dazed and bewildered was Arthur,
And sat on the snow-covered ground.
He rubbed the bruised spot on his forehead,
Indignantly glaring around.
He heard running footsteps approaching,
Then two worried figures appeared;
They stopped, and they stared at poor Arthur;
A boy, not cross adult, as feared.
Two lads, not much older than Arthur,
Both helped their poor victim to stand.
They were sorry their snow balling battle
Had started to get out of hand.
They looked at young Arthur more closely;
Thin clothing, poor shoes and pinched face,
And dragged him to meet their companions,
Called in from each cold hiding place.
One fastened a scarf round his shoulders,
One gave him a large hunk of bread;
And Arthur, so used to harsh curses,
Found kindness and friendship instead.
He joined in the battle, did Arthur,
And slowly stepped out of the shade
He'd never been breathless with laughter
And never before simply played.
And after the battle, young Arthur,
Had no icy parkland to roam
His friends had known hardship and hunger,
And bundled young Arthur back home.
The newest Irregular member
Has done with hard times on his own;
Young Arthur is warm, fed and sheltered,
And won't spend this Christmas alone.