A Poem of A Victorian Beggar
|Beneath the evening lamplight I sit on nature’s floor,
Entreating those emerging from their crystal paneled doors,
To ask a single farthing or penny they might give,
And grant this humble beggar a means where he might live.
And as they come and go each night they hardly notice me,
For beneath the evening lamplight, my cup is all they see.
The carriages they click and clack along the cobblestones,
As highborn men and ladies, go to and from their homes.
And as the snuffer comes along and morn is all alight,
I’ll drag these lifeless legs behind and wait for coming night.
For beneath the evening lamplight is my place on nature’s floor,
Entreating those emerging from their crystal paneled doors.