The Rich, Poor Woman

You see her from afar And know her well She’s that old lady With the cigarette and unwashed smell She sits on the floor A cardboard sheet for her body Deep-set bags under her blue eyes Her clothes now grey and shoddy You turn up your nose As the stench draws near She claws at her diseased skin She was once beautiful and fair Her hair is now white and matted Her wide smile disappeared, Her belongings have been stolen, But this woman is revered For with the simplistic natural eye, You see that she is a no one The lowest form in society As all her loved ones have gone Yet with the Spiritual eye She is pure royalty, a noble Yes she is homeless, But daily she goes before His throne She is a child of the Most High Yet people who pass may not see The business people and children ignore her, But she is kneeling before His feet She prays to her Saviour He hears her soft-spoken prayer Those who pass make up stories about her, Their noses in the air So before you judge this woman, On the street homeless and poor, She already has answered to Jesus Yet He’s still knocking at your door… Knock, knock Who’s there?… N.B. Just a general poem about the homeless and how you do not know their story; where they have been and maybe who they once were and that despite their image, they may not be what you expect. But this is based on the juxtaposition of a homeless saint versus money-mad business persons.