He sits there, on cold, cold stone, Huddled and shivering, so, so alone: The card reads – “Homeless and Hungry”. Our conscience is given a nudge, We toss in some coins (oft times with a grudge For maybe “they’ll be spent on crack, cocaine” Or “Surely he’s only himself to blame?”) Yet, we know nought of his early years Were they pain-filled, with struggle and tears?: Or was he “Somebody’s Darling”?
Somebody’s Darling?
Greta M. Sears