I know we've all seen him, black
eyes full of shame
The rugged poor old man, with no
pride and no name
He stands at the corner, of Survival
and Povertee
"I will work for food", his
lone cardboard plea
Thirty people pass him by, sixty
eyes turn away
Not one offering of help, for this
man fallen stray
Perhaps we instantly think, "a
scheme to buy booze"
How dare us be his judge, 'til
we walk in his shoes
There's a woman we know, she lives
down the lane
Her hair is pure white, her shoes
worn and plain
She sits out on the porch, an old
dog in her lap
A "Welcome" sign hung, on the door
of her shack
Each day she waits there, with dim
fading eyes
For shoes upon her doorstep, by
some kind passerby
How can we deny her, a moment or
a brief hello?
Will we be discarded, just because
we grew old?
Passing through this life, we only
get one chance
To give a selfless hand, to share
a timeless dance
So when we see a need, let us not
turn away
And know our own shoes, may need
a lift someday
Teresa Wilson ~ 1999
