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A Man in the Street ( For all the homeless persons )

He had cardboard for covers, A bench was his bed

He had rags for a pillow tucked under his head.

As I passed by his bench I thought of his fate.

Had his life been a mix of too little to late?

Could he dream away sorrow in the comfort of sleep?

Did he still have a mother to miss him and weep/

I tried to imagine the hurting inside,

When a man looses hope, when a man looses pride.

Could I summon the courage to face each new day/

If I lived without shelter with no place to stay.

There are those who would say the fault may be his own,

But what man among us should cast the first stone?

Had he fought a lost battle and settled for less/

How he came to be homeless is anyone’s guess.

And the thought crossed my mind if he came to the end.

Would he pass from this earth without family or friend?

Would a name or a number be placed on his grave?

Just a man to be buried that no one could save.

Would his death be made less for want of a name?

Like a candle still smoking from the loss of it’s flame.

Would they call him a misfit, as they shoveled the earth?

Erasing his memory, demeaning his worth.

Oh my brothers and sisters, reach out if you can.

Give the gift of new hope to the difficult man.

Lift the cross that is heavy, when the light has grown dim.

For God loves the forgotten, They’re still precious to him.

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