Owen Suffolk - Untitled 1

I gladly would sing in a joyous strain, <br />But my heart of its joy is bereft; <br />For my young life there is nought but grief and pain, <br />And a haunting memory left. <br />Look at the stars how they gleam from the skies <br />On me with a frosty stare; <br />Can it be that this world hath no pitying eyes <br />For the houseless child of care? <br />Ye that look on me have homes tonight, <br />And loving ones wait you there; <br />And the cheerful fire is burning bright, <br />And young faces are beaming fair. <br />Though a thousand homes are around I know <br />'Mong them all there is no home for me: <br />For I must sleep in the cold white snow, <br />And the skies must my shelter be. <br />My life is still in its summer years, <br />But its flowers can bloom no more; <br />I weep - and mine are the bitter tears <br />That are wept for the joys of yore. <br />Then I cannot be glad, for my heart will cling <br />To the grief that is all its own: <br />So wonder not that I only sing <br />A song with a mournful tone.<br /><br />Owen Suffolk<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/untitled-1-2/