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Poem

Who are the less fortunate?
What are their names?
Are they the crippled,
the blind, the lame?

Is a man in a wheelchair
lesser than I?
His heart may hold treasures
that no one can buy

Does a girl without speech
have nothing to say?
Is a boy without toys
unable to play?

Do eyes without sight
shed any less tears?
Does a man who is rich
get any more years?

Just who are the needy,
downtrodden and poor?
Can we tell by appearance
or something much more?

Is a person's value
measured in zeroes,
or can even beggars
sometimes be heroes?

And just what is richness?
How is it defined?
By bank account numbers
or diamonds mined?

Is poverty simply
the opposite end
of having a home
and money to spend?

I have known people
of very great wealth
yet broken in spirit
and so ill of health

And I have known others
with nothing of worth
yet so full of gladness
and given to mirth

Richness in money
can buy many things
but a heart full of joy
comes without strings

We would do well
with our lives to take stock
though many would find
they're in for a shock

For all of my wealth
am I truly free?
Is it everything
it was cracked up to be?

And then came the thought
which couldn't be clearer
Perhaps one less fortunate
is in my own mirror

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