The Old Man

Thrown out like garbage
and left there to die
the old man could do naught
but sit there and cry.

"It isn't my fault,"
the man said to the night.
"I worked hard all my life,
and just out of spite

the cruel world then strikes me
like the hawk to the mouse
Taking away my wife,
my kids, and my house."

"Poor sir," said the night
who pittied the man.
Then picking him up,
out of the can

He said "Let us go,
her you can rest".
And he laid the man down
in a soft grassy nest.

There the man passed away,
in the velvety bed.
A soft grassy pillow
for the poor old man's head.