The idea of home sweet home is vain
As hungry mouths cry, fading to whimpers
And “safe” is not just being dry from rain,
It’s protection from eternal winters.

December winds course through their very souls
Begging them to drop fantasies of home.
Like the brown leaves perishing in the cold;
Without a branch to cling or a bed their own.

But our frozen hearts could care no less
Chilling as an icicled waterfall
We have heaters; claim “Our house is a mess!”
Under bridges they have nothing at all.

The harsh winters rage on for a lifetime;
They fight to survive in the filth and grime.