The Forgotten Ones
	An orange glow, from street lamp Under dark skies, the air so damp Sat in doorways, under glowing light No place to go, on cold winter's night Street urchins, wandering around Searching for shelter, none to be found On our heads fall, showers of rain What we would give, to be wanted again All we ask, is a place to call home Not on streets, we constantly roam We want to be safe, in from the icy cold Nothing but trouble, we're always told We're not all bad, really quite kind If only people listened, answers they' find We are someone's daughter, someone's son Yes we are homeless, the forgotten ones
									Copyright: Robert Lewis 1998-2003 Worldwide All rights reserved This poem may not be copied by any means without the express permission of the author