Who shall judge 

Walking the streets of a dirty town

Not a penny given on this daily round

In a doorway he shall make his bed.

 Like any king he will rest his head.

Newspapers alone provide a cover,

 On balmy nights he needs no other

And silent stars will be the sheep

That lulls his senses into sleep.

Stiff old bones the morning wakes

Naught but dew, parched lips do slake

As painfully he makes his way

To pass another endless day.

Here is a man whose mother's bliss

Bestowed on him his maiden kiss

A man who loved, laughed and cried

Who looked upon his work with pride.

He cheered, drank and loudly cussed

This man once full of youthful lust,

Fought for a country in bloody strife

Made a family and loved his wife

And he who watched in desperation

When all he loved in life was taken.

Shame on those who pass him by

And cast upon him judging eye