I once stood on Desolation Row
it hit me in the face
until I heard Dylan's woe
but I could never copy his flow
a genius with words
no doubt
and then I stood up
saw a beggar
sitting in the freezing cold
thought of Bob,
and decided to be bold
offered him a £tenner
he held out his hand
and said thanks
his dog wagged his tail
I walked on, it was better than jail
financial desperation, homeless
maybe an alcoholic, junkie
I'll never know
Further down the abandoned street
a ragged lady I did meet
she pushed her trolley
laden with her rags, bags
her only belongings,
she stared out of sunken eyes
I could not disguise
my sadness, my empathy
I walked over and said
"how long have you been
on Desolation Row'
She answered, "I don't know"
She did not beg or ask
for a £pound or two
But I saw her big toe
poke out of a broken shoe
I took her bony hand in mine,
then gave her a £quid
she said, "Thanks mister
today I'm in luck."
her eyes lit up, I'm so glad I did.
At the end of the alley
I entered Paradise Valley
leaving behind those
stuck in a timeless
Desolation Row.
How they got there I'll never know
Maybe it's better that way
we all reap what we sow.
Poetry cannot cure the pain, it can only offer words humane.
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