The Poetry Corner

The Helpless

By William Henry Davies

Those poor, heartbroken wretches, doomed To hear at night the clocks' hard tones; They have no beds to warm their limbs, But with those limbs must warm cold stones; Those poor weak men, whose coughs and ailings Force them to tear at iron railings. Those helpless men that starve, my pity; Whose waking day is never done; Who, save for their own shadows, are Doomed night and day to walk alone: They know no bright face but the sun's, So cold and dark are human ones.