Not hot with Love
But cold with Pity
Do those who shop
Step in the City.
Down on the pavement
On the subway grate,
I lift my cup
Inebriate;
You can tell a lot
By peoples legs,
Sprawled on the sidewalk,
Out to beg;
The ones least likely
To refuse
Are those who have
The most worn shoes.
Bundled in
My three warm coats,
Unwashed, unshaved,
A shaggy goat;
I am King
At base of thrown,
An old sick Lord
With servants gone;
I raise a swollen
Palsied hand
To those who pass
To help me stand;
A young lad stops
And hesitates
I rise on legs
That bend and quake;
He takes me by
My dirty hand
And pulls me up,
A full-grown man.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
his version of it, spontaneously flowing! my fav: the last 4 lines.