Post by MIRIAM JACOB on Oct 17, 2008 1:57:22 GMT -5
Worth
Nobody stopped to pick up
That dirty old penny
Which could not even catch
For all of its dullness
A glint of the sublime
Sunshine and atmosphere around it
Where ladybugs alternated
Between a hover and flight,
Slurpies were savored
And SuperKid ice cream
Melted down little wrists.
Yet alone one did see it and
He thought he would cherish
Such a find on this day
Where his last dollar bought him
A paper cup of oily coffee
Old and nearly discarded
But suited to him.
So he stooped and immediately
Captivated and curious
Quickly stashed it deeply
Into grimy old pants
Down into a pocket
Where it would be safe.
The very next week
This same one returned
To purchase his java
At the corner cafe
But this time they did not see him
Who had been hidden beneath worthlessness.
For today stood before them
Handsome, clean shaven
Fresh, trendy, hip clothing
A man they then served
With great civility and gratitude
And he left them a substantial tip
For his latte.
In parting he told them
And thanks for the years
Of plain black coffee
Thanks for taking the time
To hand it to me
When you knew me as Owen
The homeless one, outside your door
There was no anger his tone
Because they all knew they had
Served him with less than the
Respect he deserved
Sloshing the coffee his way
To get him out of the shop
The penny though dull
Was a gift thrown from heaven
A rare antique vintage, near priceless
Dropped by some unsuspecting soul
Or perhaps brought there by an angel
So that Owen could become
What he already was...
So remember all the dull pennies that God puts before you...
© IRIS WOYTOWICH
Nobody stopped to pick up
That dirty old penny
Which could not even catch
For all of its dullness
A glint of the sublime
Sunshine and atmosphere around it
Where ladybugs alternated
Between a hover and flight,
Slurpies were savored
And SuperKid ice cream
Melted down little wrists.
Yet alone one did see it and
He thought he would cherish
Such a find on this day
Where his last dollar bought him
A paper cup of oily coffee
Old and nearly discarded
But suited to him.
So he stooped and immediately
Captivated and curious
Quickly stashed it deeply
Into grimy old pants
Down into a pocket
Where it would be safe.
The very next week
This same one returned
To purchase his java
At the corner cafe
But this time they did not see him
Who had been hidden beneath worthlessness.
For today stood before them
Handsome, clean shaven
Fresh, trendy, hip clothing
A man they then served
With great civility and gratitude
And he left them a substantial tip
For his latte.
In parting he told them
And thanks for the years
Of plain black coffee
Thanks for taking the time
To hand it to me
When you knew me as Owen
The homeless one, outside your door
There was no anger his tone
Because they all knew they had
Served him with less than the
Respect he deserved
Sloshing the coffee his way
To get him out of the shop
The penny though dull
Was a gift thrown from heaven
A rare antique vintage, near priceless
Dropped by some unsuspecting soul
Or perhaps brought there by an angel
So that Owen could become
What he already was...
So remember all the dull pennies that God puts before you...
© IRIS WOYTOWICH