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Money? money? Hey, you!
Could you spare some,please, sir?
I'll empty my pockets, sure;
I haven't much to give you.
Not enough for you to stay alive on.
(I keep enough to catch a ride on.)
I pray that, maybe, a warm sandwich;
prevents this being the street he dies on.
Warms him, if here he coldly lies on.
I have a coupon, we can split fries...
smiling, "O.K." the thoughts of liquor die.
With a person, problems can just fly.
As his story falls on my ears and eyes.
2007-12-21
10:38:40
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2 answers
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asked by
Anonymous
in
Poetry