It rains on the sidewalk where you sit.
Pitter patter on grey concrete wit.
Yours are the walls of endless minds
Casting doubt on the effort of your daily grind.
A soggy brown jumper with worn away threads
of a life that’s lived entirely in shreds
Dirty edged where hands emerge
to beg in kind, from a life on the verge
Your eyes held downward to puddles of slime
shunned by the looks from Victorian grime
A culture, humanity, passing on by
Ignoring the plight on the main street of life
The one who lives his existence
huddled against a brick wall
