The man was huddled in the shop doorway,

His face was pale and thin.

Clutching a newspaper, and remains of a sandwich,

He'd retrieved from the bus station bin.

The weather changed, it started to sleet,

This unfortunate man, had nowhere to sleep.

He rolled up the paper to lay down his head,

But sadly by morning the poor man was dead.

Where was the charity, where was man's love?

Now he's no need for either, he's residing with God.

We should feel guilty, we should be ashamed.

No-one deserves to die in that way.

I'll remember that man when I'm going to moan,

I'm one of the lucky ones, I've got a home. By Mrs P Mann

Settle Street, Gt Lever

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Converted for the new archive on 14 July 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.