It was then I served you, dank and cold
homeless sojourner from days of ole
Why is it that you do not speak
your hands they tremble and your spirit is weak
Lost and forgotten, your eyes forfeited their glow
the concrete jungle has brought your heart low
Empty hands full of cracks
bloody wounds leaking like sticky tree sap
Pungent odors seeping profusely
a voice from within saying “please don't abuse me”
I stepped back and wondered the mileage on this man
the crevices on his face showing life's rough demands
His friend the Robin really cares not
of his filth or his foul or what he hasn’t got
His spirit can soar as he watches their flight
sickness has taken him on his life's last plight
“In Memory” his image is memorialized in paint
his story I penned to bring attention to the faint
The heavy bricks of life have built up walls
society hides and away from the homeless it crawls
Afraid their filth might contaminate their kind
in reality most think this in the windmills of their mind
May we all take notice of the these and those
those birds of a feather who are now lost in prose
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Prompt-Bird and man painted on the brick building
homeless sojourner from days of ole
Why is it that you do not speak
your hands they tremble and your spirit is weak
Lost and forgotten, your eyes forfeited their glow
the concrete jungle has brought your heart low
Empty hands full of cracks
bloody wounds leaking like sticky tree sap
Pungent odors seeping profusely
a voice from within saying “please don't abuse me”
I stepped back and wondered the mileage on this man
the crevices on his face showing life's rough demands
His friend the Robin really cares not
of his filth or his foul or what he hasn’t got
His spirit can soar as he watches their flight
sickness has taken him on his life's last plight
“In Memory” his image is memorialized in paint
his story I penned to bring attention to the faint
The heavy bricks of life have built up walls
society hides and away from the homeless it crawls
Afraid their filth might contaminate their kind
in reality most think this in the windmills of their mind
May we all take notice of the these and those
those birds of a feather who are now lost in prose
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Prompt-Bird and man painted on the brick building
My family and I did some mission work and served the homeless. No words could describe the humble feelings in my heart to be able to serve those who deserved so much more than I could give.
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