On a pillow of cardboard, He laid down his tired head.
The clouds in the dark sky, Looked down where he lay,
A sprinkling of raindrops, To round off his day.
He gathers his blankets, But no breakfast he makes.
The good folk of the city, Look up to the sky,
Avoiding his sad eyes, And passing him by.
Don't shun me forever, And help me, I pray."
But do we this Christmas, Have enough tender care?
Or will we with ears shut, Just pretend he's not there?