As I walked past you sitting on the bench
You called to me and said, “Write me a song and I’ll write you a song.”
I smiled, as I always do when I pass you
You with your broad, warm, teeth-missing smile
You the homeless man, either sitting or sleeping on your bench
Like a watchman guarding the bridge.
Yet I offer you no handouts,
No dollars, no clothes, nor even conversation. And as I proceed on my way, I think of my father Who
told me to always give money to the “askers. You don’t know how they fell through the cracks. And
it’s hard to come up.”
How, present occupant on the bench, Sitting with your filled Petco wagon close-by, How did you fall
through the cracks?
What was your life like before? What were your dreams and goals? What did you wish? What did you
fear? And did you have a great love?
I promised to write you a song
To tell you I like your smile, your cleanliness, and your reading the paper. Homeless man, I’m
grateful to you for you do not let me make you just part of the landscape. And I’m grateful to you
for your smile and your voice, strong and optimistic.
You keep me knowing that we – you and I – are both feeling this warm summer rain today.
So here is my song, and here are my thanks.
