This is a poem that my mother asked me to write for her and is now hanging up in her office. She works with people like this, so it seemed appropiate.

She clutches him to her,
Tears of pain stream down
One dirty cheek.
Her babe of four months,
Alone and starving on the streets.
She struggles for a job,
No one knows how hard she tries.
She only knows the taunts,
The men yelling, "Whore!
You should have thought
Before getting in bed.
Dirty whore!"
She lowers her head in shame,
The helpless tears once
Shed in joy for her son.
Now shed over the
Cruelty of the streets.
"Please sir," she sobs.
"Please, sir,
Money for me and my child,
Please sir!"
But no one cares.
She lives on her own,
The triumph of her son
The only thing that pulls her through.