The Man In The Doorway Poem by Bradford Poet

He was asleep
In the corner of the street,
No light or heat,
But there he sleeps.
I don't know how,
The people around,
Can walk on by
And just cover their eyes.
His cloths are ripped,
His shoes are in bits,
But there he goes,
Another lost soul.
No change, as he begs,
He plays with his threads,
But they all pass by,
Holding their bags tight,
As they walk right by,
Like he's the scum of the night,
Who will rob anyone in sight.
You look at his face,
Calling him a disgrace,
But how do you know,
What events have been shown,
By the way he hides,
As he watches life pass by.

By James Aykroyd