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