Another night,
The chill aches in their bones,
Trash-can fires light up the cold night,
Some dig through the garbage,
For something to eat,
Others try to find warmth,
In a box,
In a corner out of the wind,
Ther stomaches growl,
When was the last time they had eaten,
Only God knows,
Thier homes are gone,
They will do anything,
For even a scrape of food and drink,
How can one so covered in filth,
Expect to get a job?
Simply b/c they do not smell or look clean,
They are shadows,


Red Ink

thats an amazing pome

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