Nowhere to call home
He slumps against
A forgotten windowsill
He wishes to call
His own
Just a penny
Would do him good
He watches intently
Praying
For his miracle
Ignored and forgotten
His spirits never crash
Quite so hard
As they should have
In his misery
The wet streets
Are little comfort
To those who sleep
In bags and boxes
For their perpetuity
Just a smile
A warm hand
Is all he wants
Before he succumbs
To his poverty
(k.d)
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