Humanity… a poem

 
Little old Fiddlebrock Simpsonstien
Wondered the streets alone
He was a simple and quiet old man
His features like toppling stone
No one could understand him
When words did escape his lips
While some would laugh and tilt their heads
Others laid hands on hips
With head hung low like the setting sun
Fiddlebrock heads for home
An appliance box with newspaper floor
Keeps him warm from the fresh falling snow
Image result for homeless cardboard homes
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