When I come from the Smoke to visit my son on the ward
I see you everywhere: by the station, by the neon sign of ‘Squares’
By every shopping mall. Leeds seems to have more of you than anywhere:
How do you stand there for so many hours in freezing winds
When most you solicit hurry by, saying to themselves, as do I,
‘Charity begins at home’ when you so often have no home?
I tend to give my change to the desperate, silent huddled in blankets
When all the warnings say I shouldn’t but who’s to judge
The deserving from the addicted?
Who but God can justly judge
My feeling is we all must learn to give.