Without A Home

Here I am on a park bench, peacefully sat,

When who walks on up – a junkie gutter rat;

Look at him very thin and all skin and bone

With a face so slim and without a warm home.

He sadly looks to me like he is off his head –

Oh my God is this his hard night-time bed:

To my home I would like to take the lead

To give the poor person a nice proper feed.

 

But I will not, because he'd rob me blind,

That's how he'd repay me for being kind;

So I'll pick myself up and leave him behind

And duly hope for a much better next-time.

But beside my bed I'll say a humble prayer

That our glorious Father may lend a care.

 

© Andrew Stevenson 17/03/2017

 

An edited piece.

 

Thank you. Love love, Andrew.