A Poor Man’s Son
Life is a bitch then you die
He wore old shoes and had empty dreams,
A coat too thin for winter’s schemes.
His pockets empty, hands worn thin,
Yet still he wore a tired grin.
The fields he knew, the streets he crossed,
He carried dreams he could not keep.
A crust of bread, a broken song,
He wandered cold and wandered long.
No golden toys, no place called home,
Just aching feet and streets to roam.
He lived, he laughed, he sometimes cried.e
The poor man’s son who fought and tried.
A dog once followed at his heel,
The first true friend he’d ever feel.
It stayed through rain, through biting cold,
A story simple, brave, and old.
No fortune came to change his tread,
No rich man offered him their bed.
two hand in paw, they faced the sky.
The poor man’s son still walking by
One day he found lottery ticket real
he was rich, yet he couldn’t steal.
he handed it into the police that night.
hearing no more about it, life’s so shite.
by the age of twenty he was dead,
thugs they got him, a shot in the head.
his dog moved on, no more to be seen.
The poor man’s son, life was no dream.
If only that ticket he had kept?
he was a poor man’s son yet a honest man
took life day by day getting by as anyone can
he died unknown, and no one wept one tear.
About the Creator
♿ V+ Marie381Uk
Poetry has lived in me since childhood.
Ink spills the feelings words fear to say.
My poems heal, some haunt, all are pieces of me.
Stay and read please. Like&follow me. If my poetry touches your ♥️ maybe leave a small tip
#Marie381UkWrites
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