He died in a sleep, yesterday morning,
unnoticed, without a warning,
quiet, like people die.
Now he doesn't need their spare change,
he doesn't need their promises
to sort this problem out
before 2025.
He doesn't need you now, London,
like you never needed him,
he won't bother you anymore,
you won't hear him again saying Please.
He doesn't need you, Westminster,
death solved his problems, not you.
He passed away in his sleep,
he now lies in a warm bed, smiling,
and angels bring him hot food.
But, he wasn't the first and the last,
there's many more out there in the cold
and every death of a homeless
is a little death of our Free World.
The poem was written after learning about the death of a homeless man in the tunnel near Westminster tube station in London.
