Sitting in this garden I wonder each day anew, In this world of anguish The human thing to do. On Monday morn I’ve shops to tour, My cooking to pursue But I see people steal and think of The human thing to do. I see their bones quite plainly, Their eyes and sunken cheeks, Their hands can move quite deftly, Avoiding any peeks. My shopping is all done now, I wait outside to see The shop-keep come a-chasing – That could have well been me! I shout and motion over, The kids now out of sight And give him a few pounds now – It gave him quite a fright. ‘But Miss, this is your money’, And don’t I know it well! Those kids need it more than I, That much I can tell. So off I trot to find them, The man’s mouth still hung wide I bring and offer gifts now, Something to turn the tide. This was a few years back now, My instincts were quite true And oft I think back now Of that human thing I do.