Shabby beggar on the street,
Ragged cloths - naked feet.
Holds a sign above his head,
“Will work for food,” is all it read.
The cars pass by – one by one,
Gawkers gaze at the beggar’s son.
But, they don’t see his hungry eyes,
Nor hear the silent - tears he cries.
Hunger pains, rest anew,
A piece of bread – would surly do.
To fill the famine in his life,
Easing the pain - of a beggar’s strife.
But, all he gets - are dirty stares,
He holds his ears to numb their blares.
For, they drive on and pass him by,
He is too young - to understand why.
He’s been a beggar since he was four,
Has learned real well - how to implore.
But, daddy tells him to, "Just act cute,"
He only wants him to - go get the loot.
He stands there now at the age of ten,
A beggar boy – amongst the men.
An honest day of work he can’t do,
But, the passerby’s - know that too.
His father died, or just went away,
He doesn't remember – much that day.
Just one morning when he woke up,
All he saw was a – beggar’s cup.
Cold and hungry - he continues alone,
His father’s alleys are now his to roam.
Sometimes, other’s share with him,
But, his days are dark - his nights so grim.
As the years go by - he's still on the street,
A threadbare beggar with leathered feet.
Stands on the corner with his tin can,
For, the beggar’s child – is now a man.
But, this beggar man - will not go away,
Like his father did on that cold dark day.
He no longer wanders lost on the street,
Recued by the Stranger - with sandaled feet!
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