Street Life

On the path sits a 'vulgar' man,
Most commonly known as the city's 'tramp'.
He'll strum his guitar and play the tin whistle,
He'll subtly beg and sell his big issues.

Past him stroles the business man,
Always frowning, never giving a damn.
He'd proudly ignore, not showing any sympathy,
He'd never dream of paying him any kind of pitty.

Along the street skips a little girl,
Innocent and loving and giving a twirl.
'Daddy can I give that man some change?'
Shows you clearly the difference in age.

These are the streets we walk on,
The paths of concrete under lives forgone.
Familiar steps and common ground,
A silent community walking round and round.

The End

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