The Window
As I peered out my window
looking upon the street,
a poor man walked quite softly;
a Business man stomped his feet.
The poor man looked of sorrow,
for those who did not care,
would throw their pennies at him;
Others would stop and stare.
His clothes were full of grime,
his hair was soaked with grit.
The sidewalk ate his shoes.
To most, he was unfit.
The Businessman was angry.
He yelled into his phone.
At someone weak and helpless,
someone accident-prone
His clothes were ironed neatly.
His hair slicked back and clean.
His shoes were magic carpets.
To the bees, he was the Queen.
These men of opposition,
did not lack the same thread.
If both were dressed as soldiers,
they would see the same bloodshed.
And yet they live their lives
Ignoring the others pain.
One with no one to look to,
the other one being vain.
As I peered out my window,
these men awoke my soul.
The poor man is the rich man,
he just lacks a payroll.
Copyright 2003�