Opposite Side of the Tracks

Over the ridge,
under a bridge;
without a fridge,
live life abridge.

Tattered, their coat,
dirty their stoat.
Beneath a boat,
but dry their throat.

Digging through trash,
covered in ash.
Rain falls.. Splash, splash.
No cover, dash.

Here they do lay,
homeless in May,
tears soft by day,
whisper away.

Way out of sight,
perhaps by night,
strolling all right,
hide shame in plight.