Reaching my ears long before I draw near
(Now here's my dilemma)
Will I respond to his pitiful cry,
Or dodging his gaze, pass silently by?
Scanning the scene, I search quickly for clues
"Is he really poor, or is it a ruse?"
Too many pros on the streets nowadays,
Deceiving for money in devious ways.
One morning a beggar, his "shift" done at nine,
Climbed into his car. It was nicer than mine.
One said, "I starve," so I gave her my sack,
But found it untouched when I later went back.
Then again, other times my alms did the trick.
I fed an old man who was hungry and sick.
"I'm starving for two," said a girl on the train,
Who devoured my sandwich, her pregnancy plain.
(But back to my dilemma)
If I withhold now, do I frustrate the greedy,
Or grind on the face of the poor and the needy?
I work hard for a living. I don't like to be taken.
I must give to the poor, but what if he's fakin'?
If I'm tricked by a scoundrel for some small amount
In the end, I will stand when I give life's account.
But if I'm a scrooge to the real beggar's call,
I wonder, at judgment, will I beg? Will I crawl?
If I should choose wrongly, when begged for a ration,
I hope that I err on the side of compassion.
