The Old Man
I answered the door with a frown on my face,
I couldn't be bothered, too busy in the rat race.
But answer it I did, and what did I find?
But a filthy old man, hands dirty, holding a sign.
'Can I do some work for you, ' he asked politely.
I don't need much, I only ask that you feed me.
I almost shut the door, going to brush him aside,
But I stopped; it was the sadness deep in his eyes.
I glimpsed his dog tags from a war way before my time,