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“The Beggar”

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And now, to the poem itself:

“The Beggar”

Sad and hunched over, spent and bent over

He walked the streets (dressed) in his rags

The beggar.

Forgotten by all, at the crossroads of penury

He stopped in his tracks, mumbling from memory

My poor broken family

And I seeking a life-saver

As one gasping in a sinking ship

Just as a homeless wanders the streets

A stranger to all those around him

He lives the life of a nomad.

Back at home the children are crying

Clinging in close to their mother

Yet she is constantly weeping with longing

For her husband out wandering the streets.

Here in the sprawling city

With buildings and apartments


He opens a door, behold

People eating a breakfast repast

On the table some butter

Together with things from the baker

“Would you spare me a sliver

to enlighten my soul?”

Engaging him now with an ominous glance

Tapping his leg in very evident anger

The man shouted, ”Get out”

Slamming the door in his face.

The beggar retreated, hungry and thirsty

Seeking respite from the wind.

All around him a storm boding the onset of autumn

As his soul he commended to god.

Through a strange gate he will enter

Falling asleep in the shelter.

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Poetry and the Holocaust

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