The poet
H e worked hard, every day always for others, and for a small pay. Sometimes at night, to survive in a world that did not understand he sang old sweet and sad songs strolling through the tables of small dives, smiling at young ladies of sixty five. Most liked him, but thought he was not much, to them he was just another struggling man, and as such he was part of the crowd in which he got lost. But when he got home tired and spent, but finally alone... a transformation would take place as he... Sign in to see full entry.