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The Beggar Down the road and to the right a shadow formed, stooped silhouette of a beggar. His early morning stride was slow, face held grooves deep and long. His pants of tatters slung too low, sun shrunken clouds lay wrong. He stood in a field by the road, gnarled hands held crumpled sack. Drape and shape of his stance bowed. Burdens slumped his back. Laden feet braced inside a breeze, once shaken and twice spent. Unto the ground he bent his knees, air ripples still, silent. His thin hands held palm to palm, Jaded eyes heaven bent and contours of his frame were calm. Thank You, he sighed, content. My soul was like a bone exposed until the beggar led me to repose. |
This Poem was Critiqued By: Dellena Rovito On Date: 2008-04-06 16:36:14
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Marilyn,
I'm trying to figure out the repose thought!
Were you at peace, because you felt happy to be better off?
Or because you gave help to someone.
I just feel upset by beggars because but for the grace of God go I.
Help me know your thought?
Dellena