The Chair Peddler
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A man reached me at the market that day.
He lifted two handcrafted seats on his head.
He urged, "Won't you buy my chairs?" Today.
Nobody took my chairs. All moved instead.
I recall helping others with daily duties in life.
If you find a poor partner, avail him in strife.
None are so flush that they might not borrow.
The fate of the poor may be our lot tomorrow.
Look, these are the best things I have made.
Please buy my seats. I slum my children frayed.
He seems gloomy. This person is my age.
Words nag me. I gave him cash and change.
I echo helping others, even when being mean.
Do not judge your pal's deep suspicions, lean.
No fine, people can avoid shame or misery.
Lift others in the race for a swathe of glittery.
I replied, "I need one seat, but sell the rest."
Kids are waiting, and I wish you all the best.
Thrusting his hands to pray, I was unready.
For me, it was an incomer with tears already.
I never lost the venting of the chair salesman.
It may not be a lot to exalt others when we can.
If it turns on a brother, do not let envy ruin it.
We pray for each other's rightness, joy, and grit.
Written: November 28, 2022
Copyright © Sotto Poet | Year Posted 2022
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