Out in a Frost-Swept City Street
Out in a Frost-Swept City Street
Out in a frost-swept city street A man stood, torn sleeping bag at his feet. With cold-reddened hands he smiled, calling “Come on, folks, only ten weeks left ’til spring.” People rushed by, deaf to his chilled cheer, Not caring he had to wait for it here, Out in the dark frost-swept street With but a torn sleeping bag at his feet.
