His walk an awkward shuffle. 
Hands in pockets deep. 
Shoulders hunched against the cold 
wondering where to sleep. 

His clothes are torn and ragged. 
His coat is sparse and thin, 
no good against the cold and wet 
he was soaked through to the skin. 

The autumn fog grew thicker, 
the tired old head was bowed. 
A mangy dog stepped in his path, 
bared its teeth and growled. 

Its body thin and wasted, 
the shine gone from its eyes 
but as the old man looked he saw 
hope flutter and then rise. 

The vagrant searched his pockets, 
there was just a piece of bread. 
It should have been his supper but 
he fed the dog instead. 

The pair then walked the drizzled streets, 
two friends side by side. 
the partnership brought inner warmth, 
inner strength and pride. 

They found an old bus shelter 
and curled up for the night. 
The dog in its new master's arms 
they huddled there till light. 

At dawn a workman found them. 
He shivered then he sighed. 
The sudden frost had been too much 
both man and dog had died.