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Not Many Blessings To Count

My life is like a bowl of fruit
That's old and going bad
If you saw me on the street
You may feel very sad
Life is what you make it
Or so the experts say
But my life is going nowhere
I've made it the wrong way
So here I sit upon the street
With hand stretched out in hope
That a Samaritan would stop near me
And throw me a safety rope
It may be a cosy bed
In a shelter that's nearby
Or maybe a friendly shoulder
So I can have a cry
The streets of town are dangerous
More so in the night
When drunks with too much money
Just want to pick a fight
I keep away from areas
Where trouble does reside
And if I see it coming
Into the shadows I will hide
If I can survive until morning
Without being stabbed or shot
Then I will count my blessings
Though they will not be a lot.

Submitted: Friday, April 26, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, September 24, 2013


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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Thought of this when I saw a bedraggled person wandering the street.

Comments about this poem (Don't Weep My Dear by Philip Carter )

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  • Hans Vr (4/27/2013 12:50:00 AM)

    Very good poem, Philip.
    Even a beggar has his own blessings.
    So true. I think of eyesight as one of the greatest blessings.
    The power to think
    ....
    Well written

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