Blind faith in the poor.

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I saw a man today picking litter of the floor,

a dog at his side I guessed they were poor.

He never said a word just got on with the job

never seen such a quiet and beautiful dog.

They say think of others and not just of you, so

I prayed he’d go unnoticed beneath a cloak of blue.

I watched him move his stuff to form a perfect pile

it took a few minutes, the dog waited all the while.

I watched the cars go by and people walk the street,

everyone too busy to even stop and greet.

He never paused to look around he busied with his hands

He stooped a little, walked in pain, yet tall, as if he

owned the land.

I watched this man rummage through the bins

they tell me feel no pity, for his cause are his sins.

‘He probably is an alchy, a druggie there’s no doubt.’

About this man in honesty they know absolutely nout.

‘He brought it on himself,¬†addiction is a choice.’

Your self righteous words founded in fear spilling in your voice.

So I prayed you wouldn’t see him, blinded to your eyes,

for i’ll never change your thoughts no matter how hard I try.

I watched him fill his bag and feed that little dog,

I whispered to the skies, thank you, God.

They wandered on their way, slowly up the road

bin bag filled to the top with all he could hold.

 

Karen Hayward ©2016 (image and words)