A Stubborn Man: The Homeless Man

The homeless man just left to die,
No one knew when, or even why.

"Too old to be left on the street,"
A policeman said, while on his beat.

"A stubborn man," his children said,
When in an icy storm, found dead.

"We tried to take him in, but he
Lived in his own reality."

"It was his way, or not at all,"
He scarce could walk and oft would fall.

"I live my life and that is that,
Until my Maker's home I'm at."

Unkempt, unshaven every day,
A vacant house, his place to stay.

His blanket and a cardboard box,
A scarf that looked like furry fox.

His tattered boots were worn right through.
How he lived, who really knew?

His last meal untouched, by his box;
Some kindly soul left brand new socks.

A cup of coffee, frozen ice,
Seems had been placed by someone nice.

"His cardboard box is now all mine."
Another homeless stood in line.

"His new socks are a blessing true;
That meal he missed, I'll eat it, too."

"The world to him, has not done right,"
'T'was said in darkness of the night.

"A stubborn man, did things his way,
And blessed his own," there's some will say.

The plight of the homeless is brought to light.