A Coin For the Beggar

The beggar’s slippers were new; And the turban around his head too, So I still kept the coin. Strange was the woman; strange was her beggin’, With no word, but munching nuts a mouthful. With a child on her hip, walked the slothful. Indeed, I liked her not, and remained like a stump. In a rugged clothes begged a tiny temp, With his withered hand stretching high, From outside the bus, whining to the sky. I wasn’t ready to toss the coin to the teddy. On the floor moved a creepy-crawly. Flimsy and tipsy seemed he. Tinkered he, his lips, when there were slips, With a dripping grin- the outcome of a gin. He bowed; and he scrammed. Only that he was a fraud Was what he had proved. Then there no more beggar for the coin… So was it mine?