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NA aanleiding van soveel briewe die afgelope tyd met klagtes oor bedelaars wat jou om elke hoek en draai lastig val, wil ek net graag die volgende gediggie deel met die lesers:
Beggars at the Gate
A spate of beggars at the gate,
from early morn till rather late.
Not all of them at the same time though,
One will come, another go.
One could write a book on their ruses and excuses,
lamentations, presentations,
fictions and frictions, strains and pains.
If only the whole set-up weren't too cruelly heart rending -
the bitter agony underlying their pretending.
I would like to show concern,
but how could I discern?
How could I detect the lies,
the stories in disguise?
The person crying -
is he lying, spying, prying?
Is he just trying or really dying?
Or both?
Even swearing on oath
could mean nothing -
he or she might just be bluffing.
It could have been me - my fate
not to be inside, but outside the gate.
"Give to him who asks you", Jesus said.
Of course, he is human, he must be fed.
On the other hand
I understand
He might be an angel, and I being unaware,
may begrudge him his fare.
He may be one of the least
of the Lord
I cannot afford
to jeopardise my chances to the final feast!
"He who helps the poor, lends to the Lord".
It is better to help than to hoard.
Better to share
than so spare,
Please Father, make me wise
and help me to discern their cries.
Prevent me from handing out some cash
just to have it spent on a drinking bout bash.
Paarliet |