The Old Beggar

A beggar on the road,
tattered clothes, worn out and old,
streches open his arms wide,
shaking and shivery all in God's name,
a crumbled soul dwells inside.
Who cares?

With trembling hands he knocks at the door,
one, two, three, four,
gathers up courage but the lips are shaken,
a two and three quarters of words spurt out,
showcasing an identity mistaken.
Who cares?

In a split-second the car is spun,
across the street, fading into the sun,
all hopes of mercy, of pity are blown,
retreats the beggar to wait another turn,
he knows he gotta live coz life goes on.
Who cares?