The Man and The Vagabond

The well-dressed man observes the vagabond in loneliness and rags Dirty clothes, unkempt beard and a perfectly tuned guitar As the man frowns, with his eyes he silently judges and hates He lets himself be embraced by the cold and stormy night as long as he despises him a little more With the same look of hatred and disgust he continues on his way without a backward glance He didn't care that the vagabond cried with the night and screamed: -Not again dad, don't leave me again.