They use words like ‘family’ and ‘home’
He blows on his cold coffee, blinking hard
And pretends he is not listening
While the hollowness expands in his soul
Laughing, they gather mittens and scarves
Chatting incessantly through lingered farewells
Of ‘see you soon’ and words like ‘friend’
He has never known their warmth nor they his depth of bitter cold
His cold cannot be soothed by mittens or scarves
Even the box that he calls home is warm
In comparison to the chilling agony in his soul
As an eternal echo weeps alone, alone, alone
Oh, he’s known a family of sorts, gathered around
The warming stove of an old rubbish bin
But its members come and go, or die
And they all suffer the plight of an unbearable chill
Once a passing gentleman yelled ‘God loves you, son’
Tossed him a coin and patted himself on the back
Returning to the comfort of home-fires, behind closed doors
While outside the chill grew deeper, freezing the tears in his soul
Janet~
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I hope you enjoyed your pause on this porch and thank-you for your visit!