Sprawled in the dust outside Syrian store A target for small children, dogs and flies A heap of verminous rags and matted hair Sometimes he shows his stumps of yellow teeth The curse of pitty, a grotesque mask of death With hands like claws about his begging bowl Lost in the trackless jungle of his pain Clutching the pitless red earth in vain And whimpering like a stricken animal How the other half live-so much yet so little