David Wood (07 April 1950 / London)
Alone On The Streets
She carried the whole world slung on her back
Some threadbare clothes in a rotten old sack.
Heavy lines etched on her weary face,
For her lot in life she had lost the race.
She once had a home with a respectable mother,
Now hard life on the street, she knows of no other.
Her misfortune now plain for all people to see,
A good outcome all lost and never to be.
She spends all her days alone on the streets,
Not a friend in the world only beggars she meets.
How will it all end, does anyone care?
Will anyone help, will someone be there?
If it was your daughter what would you do?
For solutions to her life are all but too few.
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