Hollowed out eyes, creases running on the face,
She comes after me, with a child, trying to keep pace.
I hold up my hand, but see her eyes filled with sadness,
Oh how do I say no to this woman who is subject to such hardness.
I look at the kid prancing about her mother’s legs,
Lustful with anticipation of something I will give, some dregs.
I look at the doleful eyes, the deplorable figure, the lives disconsolate,
My pockets search for something concrete in this harsh, cold world,
But hands from my pockets separate;
Only to much of my dismay, I figure a wallet forgotten somewhere else.