An Umbrella From The Rain
By sidewinder
Bright lights touched with a bit of glamor, But behind that facade comes a forgotten tale, Lost in the pain of the streets torn in blood with the forgotten clawing to survive, Not sure of where their last meal comes, And where is the caring? Cold is the eyes of the unbending stranger, One wonders why? But when you have walked as those with torn clothes and haunted eyes, Never judge but instead only hold compassion, Hold out an open hand, You never know maybe fate turns its tide, And you might be needing the same understanding of one who holds an umbrella from the rain. July 17, 1996 Written January 4th, 2002 © on Jun 13 2002 04:21 PM PST, Billy E. Whitehorn society • contemporary
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"Bright lights..."