The Wretched Man Poem by Lone Dog

There was a house
Along a village lane;
An old brick house
With broken windowpane.
Behind that pane
There sat a wretched form
Whose empty gaze
Revealed a life forlorn.
I passed him oft'
While wand'ring through the street,
As day on end
A vigil there, he'd keep.

A woeful sight,
Neglected and alone,
With unkempt hair
And flesh that hung on bone;
Disfigured limbs,
Disease of meager years;
His twitching hands,
The legacy of fear;
Embittered brow,
The scar of hurt and scorn;
His listless frame,
A burden tired and worn.

One dreary day,
As life there passed him by,
I saw a tear
Build slowly in his eye;
This wretched man,
Forgotten and forlorn;
I found him dead
One cold and drizzling morn.
They buried him
Upon a distant hill.
And there he lies,
Alone and wretched still.