Alcoholic with sick on his shoes,
Sat on a brown wooden bench
In the middle of town
With his old dog,
Flea ridden,
Shaking, gray,
Lacking good vision
Waiting for a meal
A dropped pasty or pie
A sandwich, perhaps rye.

I, was never taught in school
To be such a man
It was always
You could become a lawyer,
You could become a teacher,
You could become a business man
Never, you could be an alcoholic
No, I was never given that option
And that’s why I don’t truly understand him
Why none of us do.

He could be the world’s greatest mind
And you've just passed him by.