Drawn Poem by Ima Ryma

I don't have a real home, instead
Under an underpass I stay.
A worn out mattress is my bed,
Against a concrete wall of gray,
Upon which I do make my mark.
I draw a window to look through
To see a lovely city park.
I draw a chest with three drawers to
Put in clothes in which to be clad.
A drawn bird in a drawn cage, we
Together do enjoy time had,
Watching shows on my drawn T.V.

To dream away my homeless part,
I draw my 'home' in charcoal art.