Flies fenced while friends ran.
Passers-by pity to wet his throat.
Kown! kown!! Their coins crying in his pleading plate,
Being the best they can.
Do they give from the deep unseen mind?
As supplication clings to the offer as parasites.
Isn't for eyes to see, hands are raised?
Let the conscience speak aloud,
With his flat pocket, goody goody still exploits.
He cries "o come my beautiful one with helping hand to touch?
His skeleton is being beaten out by starvation
How long will alms be at his reach?
In him his natural endowments perish as worthless speech
Helps are buried to make them function.
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