The Stranger stood beside me
waiting for the bus one day
I had no joy, for slings and arrows
frightened it away
But he addressed me with a smile,
as if to a friend
in halting English, though his joy
I still could comprehend
We spoke of this and that until
the bus came to a stop
and as it left, I waved to him
and felt my burden drop
For though I may be wicked
in ways only I can see,
I must have some good, for the Stranger
saw the good in me
No comments:
Post a Comment