The cold wind seeps into his drained body.
Bones of his ache from resting on the snow-filled ground.
Shoes of his,
No unwearable,
For he has kept them long enough that they started to break.
And so is left to walk bared.
The forlorn man travels
Seeking work,
Accepting food and money as payment.
He travels with nothing, but a clothed bindle;
Carrying a teared down photograph of a small blue-eyed girl.
As night falls,
The lonesome wanderer seeks a resting area to snooze.
Occupying a decrepit bench,
He weeps,
Whimpering quietly
Desiring of nothing more
But someone to heal his emotional wounds and take him back
To the life he once had.
