The Hobo
The Hobo
He looked so worn out and wrinkled old
He wanders from town to town so I am told
A hobo is he, a loner you could say
He catches my interest in some fascinating way
I watch him as I sit at a table outside a restaurant
He looks happy; a life fulfilled not having a single want
As he walks toward a beggar sitting on a mat
I wonder what this hobo will do, will he stop to chat?
What? Do my eyes deceive me, can what I see be true?
The bum reaches in his pocket and gives him his change and says “May God bless you”
The beggar looks up with a great big smile
He says “May God be with you every mile”
The hobo gently touches the man on the cheek
Not a word is spoken, neither needs to speak
Well, before my very eyes a miracle I did see
The hobo's clothes turned a pure white, the beggar jumped up and shouts out with glee
An angel the hobo most certainly must be
He then spoke and said, “Take up your mat and come follow me”
So the two wandered off on a mission ordained by God that very day
They traveled from town to town ministering to those who have gone astray
Thomas H. Czech
November 17, 2009
