And there he sat alone and withered
No clothes, he shivered.
And as his soul called out to others,
His head hung low, have I no brothers?
Walking past, their life so full
He pleaded flatly,
Drained and dull.
No enthusiasm could he share
With fellow humans
That didn’t care.
“A coffee?” I asked to the top of his head
“A pound” he replied,
To which I said,
“A pound and coffee, is it a deal?”
He grinned and murmured
“Are you for real?”
I ponder today, as I lay on my bed
Is the street man right?
Is caring dead?
I know that I cannot make it right.
For love I’ll continue
For mankind I will fight.