Beating Around the Bush
Behind the bush lay remnants of a life
The crumpled pants, some socks, a tattered shoe
These humble artifacts of human strife
Such pain and anguish hidden from our view
The owner of this clothing had a name
Though often times we’d label him a bum
We shake our heads and wonder who’s to blame
Afraid this neighborhood’s become a slum
Do we abhor the filth or is it fear?
That makes us shake our head and walk away
If not acknowledged then they disappear
Our self defense to keep feelings at bay
But every human being has a dream
Perhaps this homeless man needs our esteem
Tina Busch-Nema
February 08, 2009
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