A Beggar

I shelter the bones in a rag

Allowing passersby about their new styles to brag

I walk the dirty streets barefoot

Driving rhythm to my broken flute

I’m a beggar down street fifty one

And I breakfast on Crumbs of generous sun

I see the saint, the sinner, the crazy and the wise

I watch those in rags and those in branded ties

Their looks like released triggers; got no human grace

 Searching their pockets for coins to slap against my face

“The Young Beggar” painting By Bartolome Esteban Murillo

I’m a beggar down street fifty one

And I breakfast on crumbs of generous sun

 Some jobless stop by me to draw a chat

 Nothing’s more annoying than a rich spoiled brat

 Who brags about touring the world

 I doubt he once around his feet swirled

I’m a beggar down street fifty one

And I dine on crumbs
of generous sun

I also meet who envy me for who I am

“Your freedom isn’t like ours, a flam”

With my broken flute I travel from spot to spot

Cheap wine had never made of me a silly sot

I’m a beggar down street fifty one

And I dine on crumbs of generous sun