The blowing cold, freezing
Looking for shelter, anywhere
Lying close together, hiding
From those elements, from the cold.
Oh for a warm blanket, soup
A plate of hot food, a sweater
Clothing for protection, a room
In a warm, dry home.
The street children, our legacy
Abandoned and unwanted, alone
With only each other for support
With only a cardboard box, for a home.
We should be filled with shame
We should be reaching out
We should be protesting their cause
We should, but we don't.
Salagatle!
1 comment:
Bro...I feel for them too. My only problem is how do you determine who are the "real" street kids and who are the ones fucking around trying for a free handout? We've all seen them...typically it's one or other item of clothing that doesn't match the rest (new Nike's, etc).
I keep an old jersey in my car specifically for the purpose of giving it to someone I can confidently call a "street person", the difficulty I have is that I have yet to be convinced. And if you take it to the Salvation Army, you don't know what happens to it, or whether it will even go to someone who needs it, or if the receiver might not just swap it for the one he/she has on his/her back at the time.
Another touching poem though...
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