Tuesday, July 3, 2007

A Poem by B.G. Wetherby

A homeless man or woman,
Another child of God.
You'll turn your back. and then walk away,
Because you find them odd.

No fireplace or warm, dry bed,
No family to call their own.
In the cold is where they sleep,
That's where they call home.

Exposed to natures elements,
On a frozen bench they lie.
While you sleep in your warm house,
Fed, secure, and dry.

That could have been you instead,
You are but one bad break away.
Then everyone can treat you
Exactly the same way.

Buy them a warm and hardy meal,
And stop being critical.
Give them shoes with out holes,
You can be the miracle!

4 comments:

Vik said...

Thank you so much for sharing this poem, Stacy!

Mary Anne said...

Touching poem and right to the heart. Thanks for sharing, Selena.

Andi said...

Thank you for sharing.

Cathrine said...

beautiful poem. I have a short story named 'Swoosh' on the same theme. You can find a link to it at my blog (inder short story) if you like. :-)