The Ghost of wells

A poem I wrote about a homeless man I see daily on my way to work.

The Ghost of Wells

I watched a homeless man
and his four legged friend
Take refuge on a bench
Whilst people went about their daily business
Wrapped in designer labelled coats
His breath like steam against the night
Begging for change, like a politician for votes
Desperation, sorrow 
In his blood shot weary eyes
I pass him almost daily
Drop some change in his hat
Thinking what's this guys story
Did he mean to turn out like that
The daily grind of reality 
He's the king of Melancholy street
A story to tell under his finger nails
He see's the world from at your feet