UNTIL WHEN

Behold he trails in the streets,
With a rusted tin,
Each step with a shiver,
To hear a dwindling sound.

Once trusted ones at peace,
Racing with coloured cars,
Each move with grace,
To attend important matters.

At the dark corner he sleeps,
Folded on a rugged mat,
An empty stomach for the day,
To hear the rats squeaking.

At the mansions they rest,
Nested on the best furniture,
Well built and healthy,
To observe the earnings of the day.