Man with no home, where are you at?
I brought food to where you once sat.
"Here I Am!" A voice spoke free and bold,
"By this old bin, dead from the cold"
I was shocked to find him there,
his corpse lie froze, with a death stare.
At first, I wept at his sad fate,
then grew mad that I was too late.
"Weep not" he said. "You loved and tried,
There are those who are glad that I died."
"My soul flies free and sings a song,
my shell lies cold, to right an old wrong."
For the One to One, one syllable poem contest.
Copyright © Christopher Bunton