Old John Poem by Francis Duggan

He is one of the people with nowhere to live
Yet he has given the State more than the State to him give
For five decades he worked and his taxes he did pay
Yet he is a homeless poor pauper today.

A homeless poor pauper thanks to his deceased wife
She gambled their home and their savings and then took her own life,
On the waiting list for a flat from the Council for six months or more
His is a hard life for one of seventy four.

Each day he smokes a few cigarettes and he drinks a few beers
But he is a pauper though he has worked hard for years
For sleeping in an old factory doorway he seems a bit old
And in the depths of Winter he may die of the cold.

Old John is a nice man so gentle and wise
With silver gray hair and chestnut brown eyes
Sitting on a park bench he spends most of his day
It does seem all wrong he must live in this way.

For a Council flat he is obliged for to wait
And by the time his turn comes for him it may be too late
He sleeps in a factory doorway on cold concrete he lay
Unlucky in life but that's life one might say.