Step out, into the night air
Can't you feel the chill just creeping on you
I'm singing a song of sixpence, so the beggar won't be blue
Cry out in pity, when you see him on the street...
Shadows passing needlessly unnoticed he has no shoes upon his feet
Nothing to eat tonight, but while you tuck into your warm soup and bread
Spare a thought for that beggar in the doorway, tomorrow, he may be dead.
Written By B R Walker
16 January 2016