Poor Man's World
M
Mario, Lucien, Rene Odekerken
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Hands worn like old leather,
cracked by time, by toil, by loss.
The streets do not know his name,
nor does the world pause for his hunger.
Dreams fade before they take shape,
like smoke in the cold morning air.
Still, he walks, still, he hope's,
because tomorrow is all he has.
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