I pass him in the street, shuffling along on dejected feet,
Looking forward and staring blank,
Sunken cheeks and hollow eyes,
What loss and pain have you known,
To drive you to leave your dear home.

My troubles must seem trivial to him,
Pay rise, promotion or resign on a whim,
I have solid roots and a roof too,
His scratch to take hold, 
Maybe a cardboard box but temporary at most.

His hope is for a better life,
A social security number, a passport would be the prize,
But the most he desires right now is to see his children and wife.