Poetry

THE BEGGAR

THE BEGGAR
Oh what would I give for a kobo or two,
An old blind beggar sang.
He sat in the sand, a bell in his hand
And over and over it rang.

Get out of my way, I am late today,
Said a young man passing by.
As he hurried on, he rounded a turn
And muttered a quick angry sigh.

O what would I give to be full today,
The old blind beggar prayed
He stood by his cart, and hovered his hat,
His clothing was tattered and frayed.

I wish I could give, but I have to leave
A pretty young woman thought.
She was in a car, her destination far,
With her was a cute little tot.

O what would I give for a place to sleep
The same old beggar cried
He leaned on a stall that bothered a wall
and pulled on his overgrown beard.

I can’t take you in, I don’t know where you’ve been
An affluent woman was irked
Yet it bothered her soul, so she tossed in his bowl
A crumpled old note as she sniffed.

What would I give, for something to drink
He held out an empty milk tin
Though rusty with dirt, he wiped with his shirt
The cup he had pulled from a bin.

That funny old man is holding a can
A little girl pointed him out.
Come now, leave him be, I don’t think he can see
her father was eager to shout.

And so as he stood by a shed made of wood
The beggar was waiting to see
If someone could hear, Maybe someone would care.
Decide what your answer will be.

9 Comments

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