Christmas in Rudeville part two

"What happened?" you ask,

"Was it always this way?"

Simple seer am I,

So I couldn't say.

But I believe in my heart,

If I have one still,

That they had gotten

Too used to fancy and frill,

And forgotten that effort

Means something real.

What can I say?

It was this way, until...

Homeless Hattie, sweet little lass,

Scurried in corners,

Though you might think that crass,

Hungry and spare,

Hardly even there,

And near despair.

She rummaged the waste

Until she found something fair.

And found it she did,

Most certainly did,

'Neath a red cloth

And an olive-green lid,

She found a brand-new,

Unused can of kindred,

And a carton of kindness,

And a purse of rapport,

And a box of benevolence,

And a dish of adore,

And a whole,

Hardly worn,

Habit of heart.

She collected the treasures

In her lop-sided cart,

Pushed it to Rudeville

To return to their owners,

But they were too busy being cell-phoners.

Not a one took her gift,

Not a one would scarce look,

Not a one had the time,

Nor the space,

Nor the nook.

And, well, it angered Hattie a dash,

She put on the habit,

And cooked kindness hash,

With morning,

She returned to her can of trash.

To her surprise,

It was filled to the brink,

With twenty-two cases of comfort, I think,

And forty-three boxes,

Yes, forty-three,

Of humbleness, mercy, and humanity.

She tried to return them

To the ungrateful folk,

But was pushed at and yelled at

And they called her a joke.

She might have yelled back

If not for the habit.

Instead, she went off to the woods,

Like a quick, little rabbit.

She stored the cases and boxes

In a cave near a cove,

Then returned to town,

And cooked hash on her stove.

In the morning again, well,

By now you can guess

The can, and three more,

Were filled of kindness.