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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Religious · #2112052
A close encounter of the street kind. conversation with fellow human sleeping rough
“ I hate Saturdays” based on an actual encounter

‘I hate Saturdays, ‘ he suddenly said
‘Much rather be in bed !’
‘Why’s that?’ I asked with a quizzical look
As he stood there swaying, his hands shook.

He told me that he couldn’t bother.
He had no wife, no child, no brother.
Nothing to give and nothing to share
No house, no home, no place, nowhere.

His story he began to trace
Of hard times, written on his face.
He told me that he’d got no money,
But drink in hand I thought ‘That’s funny!’

I thought, ‘I’ve heard this all before’
Yet this poor man’s plight I couldn’t ignore.
Unclean, unkempt__ with haggard face,
Unvalued part of the human race.

He told me that his name was Stan,
Had once been a bright young man,
Yet Mr. Trouble and Mrs. Strife’
Had robbed him of a normal life.

Several years been sleeping rough,
Life on the streets had been so tough.
Pain on his face he couldn’t hide
But no one saw the pain inside.

‘ One day I hoped to get a job.
Make a living, earn a bob.
But when my life just fell apart
I lost my way , I had no heart. ‘

In his eyes I saw no hope,
Plain to me, he couldn’t cope,
A heart so full of woe and sorrow,
For whom there was no bright tomorrow.
Have faith , I said, do not despair,
I’ll pray for you, I know God cares.
Take this and buy yourself a meal.
Have hope no matter how you feel.

He stood there, staring for a while
‘God bless ,’ he told me with a smile .
I shook his hand . He went his way.
Oh Stan, I wonder where you are today?

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