oday I saw some ragged clothes and I judged the frame on which they hung
There goes a wasted life says I I'll not waste mine for I'm young
I know his kind they're all alike he's from the Skid Row part of town
He'll beg a dime here and a quarter there
And be in the gutter before the sun goes down
Then I turned and walked into a store to buy a book of poems to read
Oh the best of literature says I is for the man of higher bread
Then I saw these words aimed right at me and it made me sorta hang my head
For I'd turned that random to a page and halfway down this poem I read
He sold a row of violets along a barren path he trod
That every future passes by might view the handy work of God
He carved a map upon a stone placed it on a dessert floor
To show tomorrows dying soul where cool clear water lay in store
And to write here all the many things he did to help his fellow man
Why it would make a book too long to read and wear away the poet's pen
Then I left the store to find that man just walk up to him rags and all
And shake his hand and chat awhile and then I heard an ambulance call
What happened here I asked someone why all the crowd that's gathered round
They said just some old ragged man from the Skid Row part of town
I bowed my head in silent prayer forgive me Lord for my idle tongue
Today I saw some ragged clothes and I judged the frame on which they hung