Out in the open air
Without a place to
Rest his poor head,
Lies stiff and cold on a pavement
Another deserted citizen.
What the future holds
Is of great interest to him,
Can tomorrow bring him
The success he is awaiting,
When darkness vanishes away?
All this holds the interest
Of a deserted citizen.
Sometimes for an hour or two
He allows his thoughts to slip from him,
Only to find himself
In the noise and bustle,
Of busy daily shoppers.
Not even the smallest child
Will lend a listening ear,
Or the wealthiest man
Will loan a tiny sum,
To put things together
No one cares about his welfare.
Well! such poor folks like him
Are very sad to see,
Perhaps, he made his bed this way
So no one can be blamed,
But regardless of his error
He should not be treated so.
Of course a house is built
House many like him but who will
Take his sorrow such answers are left to be had,
The only time he might be remembered
Is when death comes his way.