He holds out his can with
very little if any hope of alms
the battered sprig of mistletoe
having nil effect on the passing
populace that shared
not a smile not even
a sneer with the person
that real person that sat with
his spare hand
smoothing his dog
Person
22 Monday Dec 2025
Posted in art, poem, Poetry, prose, Short Stories, short story, Thoughts
The Write Idea 