Day in the strife

Author: Cyberpoet_98

An Old bum living in the streets,
fairing on handouts from people he meets.
Nobody can comprehend his anguish
they simply throw spare change in his dish.
His wife died and left him to cry,
he can't afford the tissue to wipe his eye.
He lost his job at the factory,
Now he scrounges for food down on one knee.
Forty-five cents fall in his cup,
he slowly bends over to pick it up.
As the giver walks away thoughtlessly,
The poor man buys a bottle of Chablis.
His escape from the fear of life,
he drowns his sorrow to see his dead wife.
He has passed on to a better place,
No longer can people spit in his face.