Face full of frowns
You stand alone with no one at your side
Dirty faded rags
Your cloths you wear holding a plastic bag
Resting heavily on you crutch
Barely holding you up
Bent buckled back
Arched soon waiting to snap
Like a branch that once was subtle
No as if folded double
Hands gnarled and wrinkled with age
Or is it the sun that has played its game
Your hair mattered dirty and un kept
Flies haven as if it is their nest
Feet for the last twenty years have not been dressed
Your nails, dirty and in a mess
Stained with dirt as you stand
The sun beating down on your face
Like leather wrinkled and tanned
Glassy eyes that just stare
Hoping that someone out there has a penny to spare
A life that cannot be better than death