The giver sought to be good;
He found a bum in the wood.
The bum, in his tattered jeans,
Holding a cold can of beans,
Whistled a tune of delight;
Joy on his face---what a sight!
The giver, behind a tree,
Hid fearfully in misery,
Then cringing, crept him away;
No virtue was his today.
The words in his mind like doom---
Who, they asked, who needs whom?