It was a Sunday evening, he was dressed in his best rags, <br />He'd been searching for dropped coins and half-smoked fags <br />When he reached the late-night café with great envy he looked in <br />And he watched the people munching while he rummaged through the bin. <br />Chips and chops and chunks of cheese were being put away <br />And he hadn't had a sausage for the best part of the day <br />And he stared at one young fellow with a plate of pie and mash. <br />He was a bum, he wanted some, but he hadn't got the cash.<br /><br />Terry Donovan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/oxford/
