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
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