A Soul Looking For Shelter

Withered and tattered he walked alone No set dreams no real home The last time he ate he seems to forget Scraps found in cans for that moment hes set Fighting against the windy brisk cold A coat once given to him is cherished like gold Tired he lays on a bench in the park Newspaper as a blanket alone in the dark Morning traffic awakes him from his sleep Tucking his paper in his coat he heads to the street Unbalanced and shaky from the holes in his shoes No bit of change ever refused He wonders if this life will ever be done For death to him would be his sun Now his coat is to warm another soul Heaven now his shelter from the cold