The streets they are littered,
With much pomp and fanfare.
As urchins scavenge for food,
In bins of waste all bare,
In a tiff with the mongrels,
Snatching crumbs from their snare.
Naked in the biting cold,
Wanting someone to share,
An embrace of warmth,
And some milk to spare.
The inns are full of revellers,
All waiting to play dare,
As joy plays truant,
For those beyond the glare.
Grant me the strength, my god,
To help those who live a nightmare,
That I may wipe the tears,
Of those who seek our care.