What about us with nowhere,
Nowhere to lay a head
Or who struggle for bread
To whom the streets are dear
What about us stuck in a narrow bend
With no fund to stock homesteads
But live by daily treads
Till each day's end
Or us that live on favours of notes
That drops from the passersby gracious purse
That give us cause
To taste a bit of oil and of motes
To stay at home is a death crest
If hunger don't kill us first
© Tanmoy
©lostlove00
L