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
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