Sprawled in the dust outside Syrian store
A target for small children, dogs and flies
A heap of verminous rags and matted hair
Sometimes he shows his stumps of yellow teeth
The curse of pitty, a grotesque mask of death
With hands like claws about his begging bowl
Lost in the trackless jungle of his pain
Clutching the pitless red earth in vain
And whimpering like a stricken animal
How the other half live-so much yet so little