In my neighborhood in Chicago, holy men, beggars from New York and from Jerusalem, come to our doors for money on a daily basis throughout the year, rain or shine...
They ring my bell Three, four times every day They really don't look well And I sure want to say "Go away, you poor souls And don't you blame me! You're not blind. Can't you see That I live modestly!" But I reach in my pocket Pull out a dollar or so And beg them do a mitzvah Here, 'mitzvah' means a kindness, a good deed Because I know ... That the Torah is Light The 'Torah' connotes all Jewish Holy Writings And a Mitzvah's a Candle Then I break down and cry As I truly can't handle The quiet voice that Whispers to me now and again: "They could have done much more good Had you given each of them a ten..."
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.