The Morning Sun on Midsummer’s Day: In Memoriam pro Pauperibus

A new day dawns; the morning sun
Floods across the busy Square.
The Market Cross shines so clear,
And shoppers stroll with not a care.

From Dyer Lane, in the shade,
I look across the square so bright;
On the bench, a shapeless form,
Where he’s been, throughout the night.

A formless shape, no friends, no kin -
A wretched pariah, a social outcast?
Ignored, despised, avoided by most -
Shoppers who pass, heads downcast.

A few stop by, with pennies to give.
Some who talk and show they care;
Most too shy to stop and speak,
And hasten through the square.

On the bench, a plaque I’ve seen,
In loving memory – of whom?
Wife and brother, father, son?
A loving family, I assume.

There he lies; what family has he?
Where now his brother, father, wife?
Alone in the world, so despised,
What remains for him in life?

Did he choose or is he victim?
No welfare, begging for existence, what now?
No home, no support, no friends, no love -
Nothing for him society endow.

He stirred and looked at the Cross,
“What’s left for me?” – I heard him say;
“What have I done?  Why me?” he mumbled.
He stretched and sighed, and there he lay…….

In Memoriam pro Pauperibus!


29 June 2015