Good Hearted Woman Lives Here
Strangers pass, you beg for help
they don’t heed your sorrow
Eyes averted they pretend
they’ll help you tomorrow
Imagining your varied crimes,
Why you are a mendicant
They simply judge you as they pass,
clearly you’re impenitent
Their rationalizations just don’t help
you feed yourself this morning
You move on in hopes of help
without the shame and scorning.
Few and far between are those
with much-needed perception
They don’t care how you got here
but they’re a rare exception.
So you hope the soup kitchen
has food enough to feed you
Or that you’ll find a day job soon
that won’t abase and bleed you.
Or, in a fond, remembered dream
of long-gone youth, you reckon,
a warm clean bed, a quiet room,
a kindly “welcome” beckon.