The roamers and vagabonds
still roam this land.
They migrate towards the cities
and hold out their hand.
A few pennies here,
A few nickles there,
A few dollars, maybe
but that's pretty rare.
Most are afraid of them.
They look the other way.
For seeing is believing
on every passing day.
And so the business suits move on.
To their cubicles they go.
They're intent on how the market's doing
and their portfolio.
'How much money will I make?
Will I lose my shirt? '
They never think that they just might
wind up in the dirt
with a few pennies here,
a few nickles there,
a few dollars, maybe
for the market's now a bear.
Move over roamers
and vagabonds too.
Now we need handouts
just the same as you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem