My heart goes out as I see a man,
His frail body all feeble and bent;
His weather worn face in need of a shave,
His clothing is worn and unkempt.
He sits on a corner, day by day,
You can see him most anytime,
In all kinds of weather the year around,
Selling pencils to make a dime.
I close my eyes and picture this man,
With his greying hair standing wild,
As a fair young lad with a happy grin--
For he was once a precious child.
My heart goes out as I wonder
If those who see him, care,
Or just how many pass him by
Without even a word to share.
I close my eyes and picture this man,
Who uses his mouth for his hands,
As a little boy with a longing heart,
To be free from his crippling bands.
I stopped one day and spoke to him,
About God and His grace from above,
His face lit up as he heard Jesus' name,
And he told me he knew of His love.
Oh, he may be bound to a wheel chair
But when he speaks of God, you can see,
His soul is no longer in bondage,
But is healthy, happy and free.
I close my eyes and I picture this man,
With his humor and friendly smile,
Enclosed in the arms of a loving Father,
Once again a precious child!
*****************
This man lived in San Antonio, Texas. One day he was sitting in front of a grocer store and a woman's car jerked forward and rammed him into the store, through the double doors. He is now in heaven, walking the street of pure gold.
© Joyce Blume
Note from Joyce: I have written poems for years. Many are used by pastors, in church bulletins, and with sermons. I have had some printed in news papers, before they quit using poetry. I use to belong to the Panhandle Writer's Guild of Panama City, Florica, and won First place in Poetry in, 1991. This was a great Honor, as there were so many entries, College Graduates and others. Here I had only a sixth grade education and didn't expect to win. But I can now say that I went to college. In one door to receive my award and out the other. Ha!
I wrote a poem to Jacqueline Kennedy after Jack was assassinated. I received a card with her personal signature. Later I read where she sent a card to the first ten people who sent an essay, letter, card or poetry, and that they would be displayed in His Museum. I also wrote a poem for President Clinton and President Bush. I received a card from the White House from both of them.
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