THE PAUPER'S PRAYER

Covered in stitched rags
And kneeling outside a chapel
Is a man I see
Shivering violently as the cold harmattan wind
Creeps into the core of his bones
Muttering to himself
He realizes not my presence
For he is in a conversation with the heavens
On such a cold night with streets deserted
And beds creaking with sleepless occupants
I wonder what dire desire has made the frog croak this hot afternoon
For his prayer, although silent but loud
Can be heard a thousand paces away
Should one keenly listen
His lips quivered as he prayed
“Lord, money…Lord, clothing…Lord, cars…Lord make me richer than the neighbor next door”
I shake my head in despair
For his prayer may be soft and humble
Yet reeked of hideous envy
Turning to lo leave
I hear him conclude thus “Lord forgive me for baker’s bread I stole, for I was but hungry without choice”
A smile I would have seen on my face had I carried a mirror
I say a silent prayer “ May the good God hear the pauper”

IMAGES TAKEN FROM PIXABAY