FEEDING THE HOMELESS

Behold lo! Peregrine humans art they,
And skies for 'em art bleak and grey,
And the moon ne'er flaunts its treasured beaut.
They have bare soil yet no root,
And roam adrift thru' the open roads.
I can write pages of poems and odes,
But what ode can be as sweet as food;
When cussed a life greets their mortalhood?
When hunger reins those hapless souls,
And make 'em crave for nutrient bowls,
No poetry can then serve 'em bliss,
But seem incursive like a serpent's hiss.

Ay! Hither thou hearst now,
We ow'st glory and thus must vow,
We must feed...