Photo by Leo Cardelli
I heard a story ’bout a poet who gave himself away
The inner city was his canvas with no color in his dreams
He was a wanderin’ grifter but no one knows for sure
It is said he still wanders ’round downtown at local bars
This City is a hard place and it stings when North winds blow
It shows no mercy to the poor child with no where else to go
I heard a story ’bout a poet who sang his songs for all the lost
Then he set himself on fire to warm them from the chillin’ frost
The children who roam the Night Streets tell the story of a man
called the Inner City Poet who comes each night to tuck them in
Inside their cardboard boxes they lay there heads upon the ground
and the wanderer sings them lullabies ’til morning comes around
Jill Autrey Dorman 