A bowl of milk, or a crust of bread.
She had sung on the corners and city square,
But no one had time to remember her there;
Numbers had passed her who never before
Failed to toss in her basket a penny or more.
It is Christmas; their hearts are so happy and light—
But poor little Winnie’s forgotten to-night.
Chilly and rayless the sky seems to frown,
The clouds, too, are shaking the soft snow-flakes down;
Over her pretty face, waltzing they fall