Roger D. Sandifer
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They walk along our streets and roads,
these souls without a name.
We call them bums and hobos, no thought
from where they came.
We shy away when they come near, we shun
them one and all.
But yet when Gabriel blows his horn, they
too will hear the call.
Some were men of wealth and fame who fell
along the way.
Some were men of broken hearts, and some
just went astray.
A woman sits among the trash and rocks
from side to side, and dreams about the days
gone by when she was someone's bride.
We live behind our little walls and never ...