The Poor and Lonely

Today someone praised a poem I wrote It is about considering the disenfranchised at this supposedly jolly time of year Why, she said, just think about all in need, why not spend Christmas with them, she asked Amazingly enough, that is just what I do, For you see I am one of the poor and disabled whose SSD checks just do not stretch to month's end All who live in my building experience much the same, depending on food boxes and the generosity of others We come in all types and sorts, full of warts and woes Mental illness has felled a number of us terribly They closed the hospitals and mental facilities Just can't afford them, government says, so out they were tossed roam the streets, incapable and lost Poor choices plagued many tender, women who loved, or thought they did, men who beat and burned them, took their money and left them ill and unable to fight Years of abuse, wisdom awakened, years more to heal to even a bare minimum of capability to survive So, dear tender lady, with heart of gold, trust when I say I live with the broken and poor and lonely each day