As I tuck myself in bed at night

I think of others with an awful plight.

They wander streets and are lonely:

No real meal, bed or company.

How can it be in this century

With a welfare state In this country?

I know for some it may be choice,

But most I fear, just have no voice.

They lose their job, and fate follows

Their family unit then unravels,

This leads to a loss of the home

Next thing you know they’re on their own.

It must be hard to get back on track

When “no fixed abode” is your home shack.

You can see the attraction of prison

Where meals and shelter are a given.

With thanks to Fiona Mobbs, Personal Poet, for giving this poem to Trinity. 
View more of her work at