Sweat soaked shirt

pants matted in mud

reaking of unbathed odour
it was his destiny.



It wasn't by choice

his dreams are filled with riches.

Not his life

it is riddled with poverty.


As he lies near the tracks

he thinks of tomorrow

if there shall be one

as the frost bites deep into his body.



Slowly his eyes close
as he drifts to a far better place.

It is much warmer here

he unbuttons his tattered coat.



As he walks the pearly gates of heaven

an overwhelming contentment surrounds him.
His journey is over.

He has finally returned home.



; Frank.E