Yes, I am a beggar, too,
though I don’t stand as they do
at the corner in the morning, looking
for an open purse
from which a dime or quarter falls.
I stand in shadows of my own,
awaiting your response to
the silent cries
my heart hears echoes of.
There is no bottle hidden in
the bag I carry close,
no empty cans or apple cores
or things from sidewalks gatherd.
But I walk the same path every day,
and all that really matters is
will the sun shine light into my darkness?
He and I? We are the same.
Yes, I’m a beggar too,
with a different name.
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