Of Poverty

   You see him

Walking the streets.

That old homeless man,

Without a penny to his name.

   He carries that old knapsack,

And a worn-out coat,

That he wears when it's cold.

   He stands on the street corner,

And asks you for money,

So he can buy food.

   You give him a couple dollars,

And walk off,

You don't see his smile, or hear his words,

"Thank you," in his coarse voice.

  The next afternoon,

You pass by him again.

He's feeding the birds some bread,

That he must've bought with your money.

   Then you realize,

That maybe the old man,

Is more wealthy than you are.

The End

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