I work in downtown Ottawa which is the capital of Canada. My office is a five minute walk from our Parliament building. Every morning in the summer there are homeless people sleeping in many of the doorways on my street. You see them year round with hats or cups in hand, sometimes with a sign. They don’t ask for money because the city has forbidden it.

No matter how far they have fallen, they are still worthy of our help and being treated with dignity and respect.

IT COULD’VE BEEN ME

Each day as I walk down the street,

I see them here and there.

Their dirty coats and ragged pants,

Are all they have to wear.

 

A hat held out, a hopeful smile,

They cannot speak their need.

For we don’t want to hear them ask,

Will we their hunger feed.

 

They seem like broken drifting wrecks,

Left on a hard life’s shore.

But they have stories just like us,

And hopes and dreams and more.

 

Most mornings in the summertime,

You see them quite a bit.

In doorways where they spent the night,

Though streets are brightly lit.

 

These people are no secret here,

Most just choose not to see.

And if they do their only thought,

It’s naught to do with me.

 

But it’s to do with all of us,

I’ll tell you something true.

If things had turned out differently,

That person could be you.

 

So share your change or share some food,

Or help them how you may.

And thank whomever you would like,

You’re not out there today.

 

Cheers, Winston