Homeless in Paris

Penniless and poor, a pauper roams the street of Paris.
He begs for blackened bread-loaf at the doorway of the inn.
Teeming rain is streaming down his neck in frigid fingers
and his tattered coat is useless as a shield against the wind.

Shivering and cold, he seeks some shelter in an alcove
and nibbles at the bread with aching tears within his eyes.
Recalling the appalling life he's led up to this moment
and he wonders will it be thus so until the day he dies.

Living hand to mouth in this abominable fashion
while managing to salvage what is left of self-esteem,
by knowing 'twas a twist of fate that led him to damnation
and not his own short-comings that had forced him to his knees.

Lonely and morose, he mourns the losses he remembers
and wonders what he could have done to change this foul fate.
He scribbles in the notebook that he carries in his pocket -
"If only...if only.....but now it is too late".

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