The Rich, Poor Woman
You see her from afar
And know her well
She’s that old lady
With the cigarette and unwashed smell
She sits on the floor
A cardboard sheet for her body
Deep-set bags under her blue eyes
Her clothes now grey and shoddy
You turn up your nose
As the stench draws near
She claws at her diseased skin
She was once beautiful and fair
Her hair is now white and matted
Her wide smile disappeared,
Her belongings have been stolen,
But this woman is revered
For with the simplistic natural eye,
You see that she is a no one
The lowest form in society
As all her loved ones have gone
Yet with the Spiritual eye
She is pure royalty, a noble
Yes she is homeless,
But daily she goes before His throne
She is a child of the Most High
Yet people who pass may not see
The business people and children ignore her,
But she is kneeling before His feet
She prays to her Saviour
He hears her soft-spoken prayer
Those who pass make up stories about her,
Their noses in the air
So before you judge this woman,
On the street homeless and poor,
She already has answered to Jesus
Yet He’s still knocking at your door…
Knock, knock
Who’s there?…
N.B. Just a general poem about the homeless and how you do not know their
story; where they have been and maybe who they once were and that despite
their image, they may not be what you expect. But this is based on the
juxtaposition of a homeless saint versus money-mad business persons.
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