The poor man

It's heartbreaking to watch him sit in the rain,

to see all his emotions drain to plain.

Nothing to do but watch the tree's bloom,

rather than sleeping in a warm, caring room.

Look at the people walking by, they look at him with pitiful eyes. 

Not me however, I don't dare to criticize.

Although it would be easier for me to watch then vocalize. 

 

Every single day, close to breakfast and lunch,

He comes out of his sleeping bag to beg and to munch

The people walking by typically scoff or ignore 

While he's lying here hopeless and slowly dying on the floor.

Sometimes he will get lucky and have joined company

They'll talk and laugh, and buzz like the bumblebees. 

 

Oh how nice it would be, if we switched lives, 

and he were here in this safe, warm hive.

With other family members sharing our dinner,

instead of starving cold, for this very winter. 

 

Tomorrow I planned to visit his stay,

but that day never came and he past away.

 

                                                        K. Koch

 

 

 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Our world

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