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It had been sixteen years since he had been home for Thanksgiving,
and this year was the same.
The road less traveled was best for him.
He had, he thought, become quite insane.
The booze had taken its toll,
He was sick very often,
the pills he took, the needles he injected,
why, he couldn't even remember their names.
He remembered a mom,
he remembered a dad,
But nothing seemed the same.
He lived on the streets,
ate when he could,
when it ws time to sleep,
he found a pile of wood.
His basket now was almost empty.
Everything gone.
He couldn't let them see him like this,
so, again this year, he wasn't going home.
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