He pulled the blanket over his head. But, the cold came in through the holes. He huddled under the overpass, Oblivious to a world of lost souls. Thanksgiving was just days away. Yet, there would be not feast for him; No turkey and dressing, or fruit salad, No eggnog to fill his cup to the rim. He once had a family of his own. There was much to be thankful for. But, one little accident took them away. That day, his life would close another door. We give our thanks and eat our feast, While he still huddles in the cold; Looking for something to be thankful for. Yet, he sits alone and he grows old. Remember, as Thanksgiving day draws near, Give your thanks to God above. For, while we're living in a homeless world, We are still surrounded by God's love. © 2003 by Claytia Doran   Please respect author copyright Do not copy or use poetry without permission from Claytia Doran

    


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