I once met this fellow
Though ever so ‘yella’
Was rich in life’s great plan

His abode was a bench
Newspaper the fence
He lived on beans an’ spam

Indignant not, but buoyant so
For time forgot his pain, his woe
A wife, three kids he had no more
And riches ceased - for he was poor

The ‘ouse was sold' for this he told
He couldn’t even knock the door
His friends all felt - because he smelt
He wasn’t useful anymore

And as for luck - no job as such
No help of sorts from 'Lady Muck'
His kids looked down upon his sty
With life they often passed him by

His face was worn, his clothes were old
Upon this bench his tale he told
A seemly smile and eyes so bright
He talked and talked into the night

A child approached with hands laid flat
A penny thrown into his hat
A little sigh, the penny flung
He couldn’t take this from the young

Not proud though well ,was still his sight
He knew the truth of wrong and right
And as for loss and broken dreams
‘Tis all a part of life it seems

What good would coin and favour do
He would be well to see this through
For all the past had ever taught
Was greed upon the dollar sought

Now he was wise and to that end
He’d truly learnt to breathe again

I turned and smiled then walked away
I haven’t seen him ..to this day

© Deborah Gordon 2007