The Man from the Alley

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I must recall the numerous times
I’ve seen the man sit there, a hat full of dimes
With an unshaven face and dirty ragged clothes
And beneath two sad eyes, a round bulbous nose
He sits on the sidewalk, lonely and cold
So hungry and empty, with no one to hold
As people pass by, unwilling to give
He slumps at the corner of the alley where he lives
I watch as he sighs and shakes his head sadly
He shivers as he stands, he limps very badly
With tottering steps, he’s coughing and spluttering
Groans to himself, and confused bits of muttering
His face is so scrawny and pale like the dead
He sits and he stretches on his musty paper bed
I can tell he is ill, he’s beginning to fade
But no one wants to comfort him or come to his aid
In a moment he sees me, stares straight at my eyes
I jump, for I’m startled and taken by surprise
Sympathy fills me, right to my brim
I wonder what he thinks of me, as I do of him
He winks and smiles his toothless black grin
And I’m filled with warmth, a reassurance from within
It is then that I notice, from behind those sad eyes
That unshaven face so scrawny in size
A flicker of hope and happiness serene
Of joy and laughter, remnants of what had once been
I turn my attention from the alley so still
Knowing that I can help him, I will, yes, I will…





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