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.
Armchair Poetry 