He woke to the sound of the pigeons call
On a hoary January day
Covered his head as the snowflakes fall
And wiped a tear away

All he owned within his reach
His guitar, blanket, and coat
His hand held out to beseech
Passers by snigger and gloat

Wrapped in scarves looking glum
No thought for this wretched soul
He lifted his guitar to slowly strum
Surviving the day, his goal

The day grew colder as dusk drew near
He’s had no food to eat
So cold he couldn't feel the tear
So cold he couldn't feel his feet

A passer by lifted his lifeless head
“What’s happened to you, my friend”?
The tramp they scorned lay there dead
Compassion too late in the end.