A man in his fifties, his face weathered and worn.
Wearing layers of clothing all tattered and torn.
To get his next meal, to the soup kitchen he goes.
Then off for the night to a place that he knows.
On the streets of some cities walk the hungry and weak.
To get out of the cold, some shelter they seek.
But the beds are all full in all of these places.
So a night in the cold alley is what he now faces.
In a dark corner he huddles and sleeps all alone.
Wrapped in a thin blanket on a cold slab of stone.
I watched as he lay so silent and still.
Now and then he would quiver from the cold night chill.
Then a sobering thought came into my mind,
About the family and loved ones that he left behind.
I couldn't help but wonder how many people, young and old,
Are asleep all alone in this shivering cold.