Here's my version of your poem. Hope you like it :) My wallet has coughed up its last fly. The warmth i wore, has torn off my backside. An open palm faces up, For passersby to lend a hand. But my eyes, keep aground, To hide the shame of this underman. Here comes the fearsome goodwill of Samaritan, With guests in hand, fit for a stomach. He treated me, with decency and lifted my head. Made eye, so i see the upperman, down on bended knee, to treat me like a monarch. Shining through him, his sincerity to lift me up glee. Haiych.