The dosser's face holds sour indifference, As he sits in pouring rain. He makes no effort to seek shelter. Whence comes this show of dour disdain? His blanket won't long stem the dampness, And yet he's rooted to his spot; While others huddle in shop doorways, He seems careless of his lot. A long wet evening lies ahead, A steady downpour is in store; Yet the dosser stays in place, Not for him a sheltered door.