THE BEGGAR'S MISTAKE

He trundled swaggering to the maid

Expectation shining bright
He thinks her a kindly damsel
The type to spare a dime

His hard-pressed luck since morn was sore

Made worse by the vengeful sun
And so again he prays to find
Compassion from this one

He dusts his battered beggar-bowl

And dons his tired smile
And intoning his mantra sure
He serenades in style

He sang her praise, intoned God’s grace

Incised a prayer or two
And when this failed, he turned his bowl
Into a minstrel’s tool

But sadly to his stark dismay

Her heart was mercy-proof
For all he got for his pestering pleas
Was a heart-stopping, sharp-tongued reproof

Be gone from me you lazy fool

Is missing a limb your excuse to dey beg?
My late grandfather lost his legs in the war
And till death was a goldsmith beyond compare

Our man to be sure, beat a hasty retreat

As quick as his leg and stump would bear
And from then swore to never judge by the look
But by God, how can one really tell?