The Beggar and his dog

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

a fictional poem about a poor beggar and his dog. Please read and don't forget to like and comment

Nowhere to go, and nowhere to live

He sits with his bowl, how much will they give

two pound would do, to get through the day

the shame of their whispers, all aimed his way.

A suited man goes bye, he turns away his head

too disguisted to look, he speeds on to his bed

he moves along now, on a lead his only friend

on once again, down the road with no end.

He finds a new pitch, somewhere near park lane

the people look on, as though he's insane

The hours are passing, the bowl still empty

He looks at the people, he knows they have plenty.

He thinks about leaving, anouther place to beg

then his senses arouse, to a tap on his leg

The young woman asks, why should i give?

Because he said, you can help me to live.

She looks at his face, behind all the dirt

theres a person inside, beneath that ripped shirt

It wasnt always this way,thats what he said

as to confirm, the thoughts in her head.

She opens her purse, and gives him five pound

thank you he said, but I'll still sleep on the ground

she asks about shelter, just for a while

they wont take my friend, he says with a smile.

Then from from his pocket, he gave her a letter

It told of the times, when things were better

walks in the country, floating down streams

It told of times, when he had dreams.

When he had food, and slept in a bed

when he had a life, not just in his head

she knelt on the ground, how stupid had she been

To give him five pound, why couldn't she have seen.

Five pound wasn't the answer, o what a fool

in building his dream, it was but a tool

he put out his hand, his gloves full of holes

he spoke of her kindly, a reversal in roles.

A man then approached, 50p in the bowl

if only he knew,m what was in your soul

take care of yourself, she said her farewell

she knew in her heart, he would lie where he fell.

Feeling so week, he gets to his feet

he tugs on his lead, my friend we can eat

he rolls out his bag, and closes his eyes

but he cant see a future, however he tries.

There's no life for him, thats how it seems

He falls asleep now, theres one in his dreams

for seven hours,hes the king of his land

but when the sun rises, his reign will dispand





Submitted: July 29, 2013

© Copyright 2023 daddydoyle. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:



We often forget that homeless people are still people. A lot of people have lost their homes in this economy- and their jobs.

Mon, July 29th, 2013 11:05pm


Yes we do, that's why I wrote this poem to sort of express the fact that beggers are still people they still have feelings and it hurts when you say mean stuff about them, thanks for your comment:)

Wed, July 31st, 2013 3:46am

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