This irritating person, one leg shorter
than the other, unwashed and begging.
I feel disgust want him to get lost.
But he is there reminding me of
past misery, and how bad fortune, ill
health follows me around…
This sickly idiot, it could be me if I fall
out of the plum tree, so I give him loose
change to soothe my conscience.
Pity and contempt, a bad mixture.
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Comments about this poem (A beggar by oskar hansen )
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