Cold

 

 

     It is the season for celebrating our bounty and richness.  We exchange gifts, travel afar, eat too much, and look no further than the dashboards of our cars.

 

 

We miss so much;

 

Cold



A shivering mound of rags.

Hiding in the dark depths of the city.

Asking little, but just some warmth.

Perhaps a beverage, be it in a brown paper bag,

or served in a polished porcelain cup.

Just a little liquid, to help him cheer up.

 

Uncovered fingers show beneath his coat.

They do not reach out for golden coin.

Asking little, but a bite to eat.

Perhaps a donut wrapped in thin paper,

or served on a silver tray.

Just a little to keep hunger at bay.

 

Standing on the corner.

Staring into the passing cars.

Asking for help to stop the pain,

that bites deep within his bowls.

Asking little, but a soft pillow to place his head,

or just a soft bed to lay down, and be dead.