Homeless
by donna edgar, 2013
I heard on the news today about a homeless man that passed away.
Sweeping sidewalks and taking hand-outs was his only means and pay.
Old Jim always had a smile,
His soft words and manners, mild.
He'd said "God bless you", when given a coin or two,
and was quick to share whatever he had with more than just a few.
He would never say an angry word to those who passed him by,
but his lips would move as in a prayer, then he'd look upward and sigh.
Jim's body was discovered this morning by a policeman making his rounds,
and from an old pocket bible he read a note that fell to the ground;
"I'm not homeless any more; don't count me among the poor.
I'm Heaven bound to walk on crystal shores.
I won't need no shoes, no bed. Just a crown upon my head.
I'm walking on streets of gold like Jesus said.
I won't feel the rain or cold, I'll embrace the Saints of old,
These dirty rags will then be white as snow.
I won't hunger, I won't thrist. You see, I've put my Savior first.
This old man has had a brand new birth.'
He wrote these words with his last breath; he had the victory
over death.
As the news anchor wept, the other got up and left.
The weather man knelt down to pray, no one knew quite
what to say. Except; Old Jim is far from poor; he's not homeless any more.




