The homeless huddle in the dismal park. It's six o'clock; already it is dark. Severity of winter makes it clear Man needs a home, a place he can hold dear However wretched - his own sheltered world Around which all the universe can swirl And leave him safe, and leave him who he is With something that's peculiarly his. A woman asks me if I've change to spare. She's hungry and afraid I do not care. I give her some. Then from a bench, a heap Arises, asks for subway fare - to sleep. The destitute, the exiled, and the lost - Like refuse that the winter wind has tossed.