Pity the Poor Man

Pity the poor man, who is out in the snow;
pity the poor man, who has nowhere to go.
The cruel winter wind his pale flesh scars;
above him hangs a sky of frozen stars.
For a mattress, only the cold, hard ground;
should it get any colder here he’ll be found
quite dead in the morning, utterly alone;
with no-one to speak to; not even to phone.
Pity the poor man, who is out in the snow;
pity the poor man , who has nowhere to go.
This be his lot; so pity him, do;
and give thanks to God he isn’t you.
Stuart McFarlane has spent many years, both abroad and in the UK, teaching English. In the UK this mainly involved teaching Esol to refugees and asylum seekers. He is now semi-retired and so can devote more time to writing poetry. He has had poems published in local magazines and online publications such as 'Borderless Journal', based in Malaysia and 'Culture Matters' and 'The Recusant', based in the UK. Read other articles by Stuart.