Burlap fashioned attire

hunger's belt tightly about his waist

stick and sack upon his right shoulder

he uses the stride of one who's bolder

'tis sure he's sixty and years beyond

not pursuant of the kempt set

comb, razor, exempt from his sack

on his pate, a white puff

gleaming eyes that belie

the constant nag of hunger

nestled deep in his gut

breath harder than persimmon lye

every journey and turn

in his storied life

mapped in the endless lines upon his face

hand crafted shoes about his feet

though he was

doubtless the cobbler

leather and canvass the blend

pockets having no bulge

indicative of low financial prowess

plainly not expectant of redress

his journey began I know not when

I know not where

my wonder is

are there loved ones somewhere that care

or is he another nameless victim

one of hard times

too proud for simple handouts

will he journey

"til he blends with this road's dust

before any of us

offers up our compassion

in this place of life

is he to ever find caring, peace

damned dusty roads

never knowing

never caring

the nameless faces

that trod upon them