I'd watched
this old man for many months, with tattered clothes most worn
I'd seen the look on
many a face, as each looked at him with scorn
He did not hold a
sign up, on the corner where he stood
Begging for food or
money, like others like him would
And each day that I'd
see him, I'd glimpse into his eyes
He'd catch my gaze
and look away, and I'd often wonder why
I began to think to
myself, what life he'd lived before
A beggar not was this
man I saw, was he rich or feigned be poor?
One day I noticed he
wasn't there, that corner, his familiar place
And I vowed that if I
saw him again, I'd speak to him face to face
As days went by I
forgot this man, this man who'd seen much hate
He must have been
just another bum, another corner would be his fate
One day I walked past
his spot, on my way to meet a friend
And saw him right in
front of me, my vow this day I'd spend
"Sir, I vowed
I'd talk to you, if ever I saw you here.
And ask you what your
life had been, throughout your many years."
"Son", he
said, "I know you, I've seen your face before
I'm not a bum as you
probably think, I'm rich and not poor."
"If rich why do
you dress this way, can you explain this to me?
The rich own cars and
have big homes, they stand not on the street."
He reached into his
pocket, and showed me a picture of
His wife who'd died
one year ago, the one he dearly loved
"It matters not
how big the home, I have everything I need
What matters most in
life my son, is that which we can't see."