That person on the street is someone's relative.
[Dedicated to both the caring and the homeless.]
In his place on a quiet block –
There lived a very simple man.
His walk like steps to music,
He always had a Master plan.
*He thought of others constantly,
And how each lived their life.
His kindness never overlooked,
As he helped a hundred souls in strife.
*So many tired and all alone –
On corners and in alleys.
He never asked them questions,
But saw the answer in their eyes.
*They captured his attention sure
And sparks were shooting everywhere.
Looking closely in each face,
This man came only here to share.
*He’d give in words of comfort,
Hum some melodies or tunes.
In simple words of wisdom;
In honesty he spoke the truth.
*He’d tell some jokes and stories
To lift their ravaged bodies.
From the pains of their addictions,
He brought his simple remedies.
*But most just pass these people by.
Who cares their lives are brokenness.
This is their bare existence then
Draped in filth and ugliness.
*Some will look the other way
Or cross the street in silence.
Why would we pity – share our means;
Why would we even turn a glance?
*They sit and while away their days.
Avoiding contact just seems right
It’s also not polite to stare,
Let shadow folks pass in the night.
*Again our quiet hero comes –
Wrapped in the things he shares.
Unfolding all his goods to them,
Who sit in squalor and despair.*But then one day the kind man died,
And hundreds died as well.
No one to understand their pains;
No one to sit with tales to tell.*This story doesn't have to end,
If others will get up,
And leave the comfort of their block –
To visit, share, and lift a cup.
