(A poem by Patty, a grandmother who lives in her car with her four cats,
And a member of Anawim.)
Winter is chilling to the bone
to those who live without a home
they travel here they travel there
they pass us by but do we care?
For proud is the man who has nothing left
'cause he sees his misfortune as just another test.
But the chilling cold shivers the spine
so he gathers his warmth from a bottle of wine
Just a drunken bum out on the road
Early in years his face looks old
with only a dollar to his name.
Just a drunken bum- should he be shamed?
What can one buy when the price is high?
Will anyone see him if he should cry?
Tonight the Rain dampens his head
As rumor disclosed another friend dead.
Beaten by those who are never without
"Only a bum" did they shout
As angels of mercy reach down for his soul
He sees himself a man who once had a goal
The pain removed at last he's free
he smiles down upon you and me
forgiving strangers who continue their wrong
at last he is home where he always belonged
huddled in darkness with his bottle of wine
he remembers a man he knew for a time
a man such as he put to the test
sipping slowly he awaits eternal rest
to come each and every night
Just a drunken bum we see in the dawn's early light
Just a drunken bum begging for more
"Get away you-- stay away from my door--"
