It seems that people don't care enough.
To help someone, by giving them stuff.
It could be gold
Shelter from the cold
Even if the person is really old.

He might be forgotten in years to come
The man who is known as a "bum"
Begging for money
for some sweet, sweet honey
Or to buy a bottle of rum.

The nights get longer
When we get stronger,
He stays out in the cold.
His action is bold
Though alone he stays evermore.

Years go by, and he's still alive.
How does he do it you ask?
Well its simple to me
but you cannot see
He has soup in a flask.

If we were to trade places with him,
Would he help us out?
Of course he would.
He isn't dim.
He would helpus without a doubt.



Heh, this was my first attempt at a poem, and it probably sucked.
But oh well.

Penned by my hand on the 25th of Severin, in the year 142 MA.