where the writers are

the poor are on the streets,yearning and reelng with hunger

mouths wide open and hands stretched out like jesus ressurecting

gaping and eyes fixedly alert for a potential donor

cross-legged they are crouched like a stunted tree

they look up to the giant donors with begging eyes

stretching out the fragile trembling fingures

when te contemptous donor goes without slipping the smallest coin

on tin stick legs that support the pale emmaciated body wobble behind the donor

shambling off to meet and emphasise is plight for recognition

they never look back,but move on

the disappointed alms seeker revolves and walks back arms outstretched

and recoils himself into his business position and waits.

they discriminate,tey dont just stretch out 2 anybody but what they consinder donor material.

day in,day out they are at work.

night comes,tey recoil themselves into one piece and lay theirbones on the ground

cover themselves with sacks or nothing.what they hate most is rain.

to be continued...