His eyes were watchful,scanning the place,
Wondering who would spare him a grace;
He had no shirt and his pants were torn,
And a tattered towel was slung on the wall;
A plate with few coins spoke of his plight,
And a half-eaten loaf would he dine that night;
His comb had few bristles,his hair had no sheen,
Though his lips were cracked, his face was surprisingly clean;
His cheeks were drawn with the hint of a dimple,
His nose-acquiline;its tip carries a pimple;
He wore no shoes and his veins showed out bold,
As he hugged himself to ward off the cold;
Many people came and many people went,
Through the crowded railway station's gate;
But none looked at him,or even paid heed,
To what he yearned for;what he did need.