The Doorway

He sat in the doorway of the empty shop Daily for so many years Unwashed and foul smelling Often the object of disgust and sneers He held out his old enamel cup To make a dollar or two To buy a little food and drink Just to get him through His face was worn and weathered Though his eyes were a beautiful blue A handsome face he still possessed Despite the toll and hardship his body knew I often wondered about his story How he came to have no place to call home I would never know the reason The doorway lay desolate and alone