The Beggar Poem by Roger Bewman

Living down by the rails
Wasting time that prevails
Wondering in streets and alleys
Asking money for a few O’Malleys

Nother day passes by
No more thoughts all a lie
All fake and unnatural
And non cultural

Curious people walking by
No respect, pretend they’re shy

Frightened of the cold
Cold generated by the world
Just a lonely soul on a round hard bowl

Hiding under the dirty blunkett
Coughin, scratchin’, an empty cigarette pack
Memories and dreams in a rusted tin
Most of them lost at sixteen

Sarcasm never wins
Patience is a virtue
It’s time to let go
All guilt and ego

The Beggar is a wise man
so give him a penny son...