Charlie Freak

Another rough day, so just a picture and a poem.

 sunset.jpg

Charlie Freak

Charlie Freak had but one thing to call his own.
Three weight ounce pure golden ring, no precious stone.
Five nights without a bite, No place to lay his head,
And if nobody takes him in he’ll soon be dead.
On the street he spied my face, I heard him hail.

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