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Rated: E · Poetry · Inspirational · #1356818
The number of homeless people in the world increases everyday.
I heard him mumble as I walk by,
it made me stop and wonder why.

His hands are dirty and his clothes are torn,
his hair is long and his shoes are worn.

He said he would work just for a good meal,
food is the only thing that he would steal.

He asked for a nickel I gave him a dime,
he looked at the sun and asked for the time.

He said he was a veteran of some foreign war,
things didn’t work out that was why he is poor.

I wanted to help him but what could I say,
I'll get you a job or have a nice day.

I continued to walk on down the street,
as the sidewalk baked in the midday heat.

I started to think about that old man,
being on the street wasn’t part of his plan.
© Copyright 2007 Martin Edward Johnson (marty at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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