That White Haired Homeless Man Poem by Franklin Spriggs

Walking down the street one day,
No special place to be,
I seen an old white haired man,
With his head between his knees.

I asked him sir, are you okay,
As he slowly raised his head,
No my son, I guess I'm not,
My heart is full of dread.

So I sat down beside him,
To listen to his words,
He told me his sad story,
It was sad as ever I've heard.

I use to have finer things,
I had a very good and loving life,
But my world crumbled around me,
At the passing of my wife.

My children said they loved me,
That every thing would be okay,
Now I'm out here in the street,
And no place for me to stay.

That cardboard box beneath this tree,
Is the place that I call home,
People go by, they don't say much,
But it's better than being alone.

Well, I am a little tired my son,
The conversation has been good,
Can you stop by tomorrow,
I told him that I would.

He crawled inside his box to sleep,
I covered him with my coat,
Walking away with tears in my eyes,
And a big lump in my throat.

I came to see him as I said,
I saw a crowd standing by,
I asked what was the matter,
They said the homeless man had died.

I hope that I never forget,
But remember as best I can,
The moments that I had to share,
With that white haired homeless man.

Author
Franklin Spriggs
August 16,2008