A poor man comes to the door
after the storm last winter and
asks if he can have something
to eat if he shovels the walk.
You say forget about the snow.
How about ham sandwiches
on rye bread and he says fine.
You ask if he wants mustard.
He says yes if it’s Grey Poupon,
the only mustard he eats.
This small poem, written in a lighter vein, brings a large smile on the face of the reader. Thanks for reviving and 'keeping his dignity.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice light poem. Beggers do have choices.