Running through darkness,
Without sound.
Trivial dancing,
Like none was around.

Living on streets,
Stay away from them.
The ones who run banks
Will tear financially limb from limb.

Joe lives fine
With his tin cup,
And plays his guitar,
Hoping to make a buck.

Then, as winter comes,
Joe gets cold,
Swallowed in darkness,
Never getting the chance to grow old.

Some stopped and looked,
Contemplating gifting him warmth and love,
But did not act,
So there was nothing – not even in the form of a glove.

They didn’t help,
And Joe suffered dearly.
Those who knew
Grew very weary.

The pain they caused,
They could not know.
They weren’t the ones
Left out in the snow.

Poor Joe is gone,
Went on to a better life.
But a secret you didn’t know,
That woman grieving out in the snow –
She was his wife.