Life of the Poor

Wandering around the street

Looking for something to eat

Asking for money

But they didn't give any

The cold, polluted air

Sticks on my hair

Nowhere to stay

I don't know what to say

Walking a thousand miles

Just to find some tiles

For me to sell

And you to tell

I am underestimated

It makes me devastated

How do I survive

If I'm not alive

Treated as hindrance

In every circumstance

This is not the end

I need a friend

~Z