Rags To Riches Poem by Mac Wilkey

“Show him our finest, ” the shop owner said
“This customer’s richer by far
“Than anyone else that you’ve seen in our store
“Don’t stare; no don’t glance at his scar.”

“But, sir, that young man in those filthy old rags
“Must stink, sir, we must turn him out.
“He looks like he walked in right off of the street
“I’m sure that he’s homeless. No doubt.”

“That man is my father, ” the owner replied
“You’ll treat him with utmost respect”
“The clothes that he’s wearing are some that I own
“But they would fit you, I suspect.”

“But look, sir, he’s bloody; it’s staining our rug
“Could maybe he clean up a bit
The shop owner smiled as the stranger approached
“The best son and make sure it fits.”

Then trying his best not to contact the clothes
He measured and fitted and sized.
And just as the shop owner told him before
“These clothes would fit me, ” he surmised.

“Who are you? ” he asked, but the stranger had left
He wondered just where he had gone
Then noticed the raggedy clothes left behind
“Oh no, I’m not putting them on.”

Then grabbing some garments right off of the racks
He chased the young man through the store
“Hey, mister, ” he yelled; these are surely your size
“You’ll like them; if not we’ll find more.”

The stranger was wearing fine raiment so grand
The young man dropped his on the floor.
“We’re still the same size, ” said the stranger to him
“I left some for you by the door.”

He rushed back to find them, but found in their stead
The filthy old rags, but he knew
That somehow by donning those raggedy clothes
The raiment so fine would show through.