In the morning cold I saw him on the bench.
His clothes were slightly tattered, his hands were tightly clinched.
I wondered if he'd eaten, and stopped to ask him so.
He looked at me through painful eyes and softly answered, no.
My work bag felt quite heavy and I knew what I must do.
Inside a smallish thermal box lay some cornbread and some stew.
For moments that I struggled he hung his head quite low.
The wind was blowing harder and I feared that it might snow.
The thermal box I placed beside him on the bench.
Was not enough to satisfy my heart strings that were wrenched.
I gave him gloves, my favorite scarf, and money for his pocket.
He looked at me through tears and handed me a locket.
The woman was quite lovely and might have been his wife.
And now upon this bench he sat, no longer loving life.
But then he stood and took my hand and said he'd be okay.
Into the morning cold he walked, and I watched him walk away -