Ooooooo
Today I saw some ragged clothes
And I judged the frame on which
they hummed
There goes a wasted life, says I
I'll not waste mine for I'm young
I know his kind, they're all alike
He's from the Skid Row part of town
He'll beg a dime here and a quarter there
And be in the gutter
before the sun goes down
Then I turned and walked into a store
To buy a book of poems to read
Oh, the best of literature, says I,
Is for the man of higher breed
Then I saw these words aimed right at me
And it made me sort of hang my head
For I'd turned at random to a page
and halfway down this
poem I read.
He sewed a row of violets
along a barren path he trod,
That every future passer -by
might view the handiwork of God.
He carved a map upon a stone
and placed it on a desert floor
To show tomorrow's dying soul
Where cool, clear water lay in store
And to write here
all the many things he did
to help his fellow man
White would make a book too long to read
And wear away the poet's pen
Then I left the store to find that man
Just walk up to him, rags and all
And shake his hand and chat a while
And then I heard an ambulance call
What happened here, I asked someone
Why all the crowd
that's gathered round
They said, just some old ragged man
from the skid row part of town.
I bowed my head in silent prayer,
forgive me Lord for my idle tongue.
Today I saw some ragged clothes
and I judged the frame on which they hung.