The Beggar's Child . . .
by Deborah Ann Belka

Shabby beggar ~ on the street,
ragged clothes, naked feet
holds a sign above his head
"Will work for food," is all it read.

The cars pass by ~ one by one,
gawker's gawk at the beggar's son
but, they don't see his hungry eyes
nor notice the silent ~ tears he cries.

Hunger pains, rest anew,
a piece of bread ~ would surely do
to fill the famine in his young life
but those who look ~ don't see his strife.

All he gets are dirty stares,
and the sound ~ of their horn blares
they just drive on and pass him by,
he is too young ~ to understand why.

He's been a beggar since he was four,
learned real well ~ how to implore
but, daddy tells him to just act cute
and to only beg ~ for the loot.

He still stood there, at the age of ten,
a beggar boy ~ amongst the men
a honest day of work, he can't do
and those who drive by ~ know this too.

His father died, or just went away,
he doesn't remember much ~ about that day
just one morning when he woke up . . .
all he saw ~ was a beggar's empty cup.

Cold and hungry ~ he continued alone,
his father's alleys were now his to roam
sometimes other's shared with him
but, his days were dark ~ his nights grim.

As the years go by ~ he's still on the street,
a threadbare beggar with leathered feet
standing on the corner with his tin can
the beggar's child ~ is now a grown up man.

But, this beggar man ~ will not just go away,
like his father did on that cold dark day
he no longer wanders lost and all alone
not since Jesus took ~ His beggar child home!

Copyright 2019
Deborah Ann Belka
[email protected]


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