An ode to a beggar, who sits on his stoop.
One can't study to fight when you're begging for food.
The best ways to **** will go over your head.
Taking a nap you'd much rather instead.
While the brave and the foolish go marching to war.
The beggar just sits, thinks about it no more.
Hail to you ol beggar, with no blood on your hands.
In your ***** rags you don't hide weapon plans.
Hail to you ol beggar, blessed are you in your stride.
Hail to you ol beggar, on the enemie's side.
Perhaps one day later when the boys become men.
When those who are left, travel home once again.
Damaged or whole, they will perch on the stoop.
And the old, weary beggar will command his new troop.
