Alms Za Try'n To Reach Out As Legatee Wannabe

Yukon pots sib bully challah me Jude

dish hiss literary panhandler schlepping

along virtual figurative boulevard Asia

brogue kin bloke rattling tin cup aware

how quickly passersby dodge away as

if I got some incurable fatal disease,

which choice donning schnorrer roll

barley bread within these genes, and

leavened during years as flour child,

now dem years, where boyhood

penuriousness found prior once pip

squeak punkish kid, now scavenging

analogous to Dicken's poverty stricken

London), one lone backstreet beastie boy,

(albeit naive, innocent harmless, et cetera),

quite vulnerable to elements (periodically

tabling something wicked that invariably

came my way), but Justine Nick O' Time

plucked me out the maws obviously saving

worse fate than death (still waiting for Godot),

asper living scrounging for measly morsels

to stave off starvation, a smidgen moldy

stale vegetable, way overripe fruit crawling

with maggots (ah...protein), or ziplocked

airtight sweet treat, yet most scouting around

to treasure handful of grub met yours truly

with defeat, especially competing, (asper

survival of fittest), a ratty matted pack of

wild hungry animals (humans indistinguishable

among hordes), and singular primal sounds

comprised soul fully bellowing warning, and

no matter these poor looking mangy ravenous

skin and bones managed mustered guarding

spit of territory issuing threatening guttural

growling, a warning other predators took

seriously otherwise, they (ragtag motley crue

most often banded together) could find their

defiling ranks decreased, the weakest among

scraggly bunch taken down with ease, which

ruthless occasions found yours truly secreting

his bonafide bony hide, lest he get snapped up,

without warning one fell swoop, would mercilessly

clutch this forever pencil necked scrawny geek,

and attempt squeezing livingsocial daylights,

but not without fighting spirit, ("FAKE" Irish

seeps out), perhaps suffering minor cuts and

bruises, whereat remembrance, when long dip

hearted dearly mother enforced telling extremely

shy lad (barely resembling wasted weasley wobegon

whippersnapper scratching out illegible words

writ with blood (tragi-comic farcical ploy)

imagining philanthropic stranger whisking

(after sharing whiskey) one speck of flotsam

within jetsam amidst whirled wide web deriving

cold comfort (southern, when heading to warmer

clime during) bitterly cold nasty not so short winter

(lasting a bajillion years) hankered when sizzling

dog days o' summer return with vengeance.