Crouched in my corner like a skunk, My fetid breath, stale sweat, And rags that reek of alcohol Mingling with the urine odor That tells its tale of homeless nights, I try to catch our eye As you avert your gaze In shame, disgust, and guilt, And something else I cannot fathom, And hurry past; Or furtively you stuff your hand into your purse And thrust your change at me Before I have the chance to say my piece And stag my act so carefully rehearsed. It is not so much your money That I crave; But if just once You'd smile And pass the time of day Or even glance my way And see me here You'd make me human again. This was written, when seen a homeless person, and treated like nothing by a wealthy man. Sure we all have been guilty of the situation in sometime or other. Just think.