STRANGERS UNAWARE

How odd this ragged stranger seems

Who jarred me from my frozen stare

At dust and dreams and other things

For which I spend my time and care

No other man hath paid him mind

No nod, nor smile, nor kindness shown

No soul at all hath lent him time

No good man opened up his home

So what is lost if I like they

Wave off the hand and turn back in

And quickly block the guilt away

That comes from having been like them

For not but dread his presence seems

His very sight: a cause to stare

At rags and seams…and other things

For which he has no means to care

Thus, I suppose a dime I’ll lend

“Oh what the hell.  Here take it all”

How little it be in the end

When from our eyes the scales do fall