Crouched in the corner; his cries are silent
People shoot him stares, stares which are violent
While he scratches his uncombed hair
People mutter ‘that stench is hard to bear’
Unwashed, bedraggled clothes
And to eat: the bakery’s inadequate loaves
Outside in all weather, nowhere to hide
His health now decreasing, taking a slide
As the night comes closer, everything turns black
He’s left there to wonder, will his life ever go back
Back to how it used to be, when he still had a home
When he had something other than lonely streets to roam.
