No Alms in Winter

Christmas lights flicker in the graying cusp of daybreak
Shadows thin as the slumberous sun is nudged awake
Behind winter's penumbral night, tomorrow's dawn tarries
In the liquid warmth of skeptical sun, melting snow flurries
At ten past six, lonely morning streets of ice and cobblestone
In swirling mist and fading moon, clangs a church bell lone
The paper boy in his mufflers, midst shuttered shop grilles
Milk man's teeth chatter in sleeping city of linen and quilts
Plastic bags damp with dew, flutter in the wind restively
To empty sidewalks, speakers play Xmas carols festively.

He walks on icy pavements with a hole in the sole of his shoe
The old beggar, clad in torn gabardines and frayed tunic too
Tap! Tap! Tap! He taps his cane on the bitumen street
Under electric lights of the Cinema Hall, he rests his feet
He sits on his stool to the moist licks of a stray mongrel
He rubs its bony belly and then feeds it some thin gruel
They sit huddled in the blanket, the old beggar and his dog
Counting pennies from yesterday, in the early morning fog
He chews on his mouldy rye bread and drinks his stale ale
Looking for some alms in this Season when charity is on sale.

Together were the beggar and mutt, for forty days, forty nights
With their grubby fingers, begging bowl and ticks and mites
On a bleak morning of mist and smoking fireplace chimneys
A lonely dog wagging its pitiful tail, the milk man sees
Faintly yelping and tongue hanging, it ran in mad circles
As stuck out of ice, the dead beggar's frozen hand and knuckles!

Flickering New Year lights in the graying cusp of daybreak
And shadows thin as a new-born sun is nudged awake.