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.”
