Living on the Street

On the streets of St. Augustine,
Sits a man playing a guitar,
I could tell by the look of him,
He’s traveled hard and far.

Dirty feet on the graveled street,
His song, slightly off key,
The withdrawn look of his eyes,
Shouts a passionate plea.

The girl beside him calls out to me,
I can see that she’s been crying,
Palms point to the basket before him,
She smiles to show he’s trying.

I drop a ten and walk on by,
Then turn to say a blessing,
“Grant them your forgiving grace today,
Your love for them caressing.”

For many, a day without sacrifice,
With love and resources plenty,
If God presents a busker in need,
Leave no hearts or baskets empty.