She sat on the bench, with her head hanging low
With a rose in her hand, and softly she cried
No one cared, those passing by just hurried on
Why am I here? I wish long ago I had just died

Trembling, she thought of her childhood years
Her dreams were all shattered, she was alone
What happened, why have things gone so wrong
Where have all my hopes, all my ambitions gone

Alone and homeless, how could she have imagined
One day it would be her sitting on a park bench
Despised by the world, rejected by those she loved
Dirty, hair uncombed, despising her own stench

Ashamed to look up, her eyes had no glint of hope
Praying no one who knew her would pass by
“Lord, what has happened to me, I am afraid
Why can’t I just lie down somewhere and die”

But for the grace of God, this could be you, friend
Sitting all alone on a bench, others passing you by
Filthy, dejected, despised by those you once knew
Alone and homeless, shivering in the cold, you sigh

© 2007 Thomas E. Kittrell
http://www.dustonthebible.com/

used with permission of the author