I still stop and wonder,
Why did he cry that day?
Truth be told, I might not even have noticed
‘Til I glimpsed him wiping something away;

‘Tis oft that I wonder why tears flowed on that day,
Was it because he worried I might one day go away?
Was it the pain of the passed days
When others treated him in an unfair way?
When they advantaged his kindness
To let that young lady have his flat to stay,
Only to return much, much later to learn that she hadn’t paid
NO, not one farthing to say ‘thanks for the stay?’

To today I still wonder what words I could say
To my dear friend who’s aging,
Just like we all do, every day,
But whose portion in so challenging,
Does any one care anyway?
Well, surely not his boss whose ingratitude is apparent always,
Not one word of commendation when he gets the job done
The professional way,
Even hiring one younger with hardly any skill
And then to pay
That lad one and a half more farthings per hour each day!

So quietly his heart broke,
“For your prayers I’m praying today,” he would always say,
“Just one more day’s courage to face injustice this day,
For I still know God hears you whene’er you pray;”

But I can’t help but wonder if he feared I’d go away
And leave him in sorrow because of his little pay:
He tried hard, he worked hard,
I saw him every day,
Doing extra jobs ‘til midnight for even smaller pay
For a boss much his junior who hated to pay,
Whose coffee made his intemperance his only way;
Which made lack of respect for this good man
His modus operandi I say;
Imagine letting Christmas come and go
And still holding back some fifty quid of his pay!

Or was it the weight of other burdens,
For he lost his car one day
To the police wrecking right in the tower’s car park; towed away;
And then on inquiry the voice said
“‘Twas an abandoned car we towed away,”
“On what grounds do you say that?” he responded anyway,
“Well it had no tax or MOT,” “But I was saving up for it to pay!”
And now he must find two centuries quid
If ‘twould be his again for another day.

Would one heart that is gentle heed a poor man’s cry today?
Would some generous souls offer a five or tenner to help him on his way?
He’d not ask more, ‘for we all have bills’,
I could just hear his humble, kind heart say:
One robbed and deceived, one desperate to keep his sweetheart that day,
One hopeful that he’d endure the crucibles of his days,
One longing to make right, if in any way he’s strayed,
One trying to keep a strong man’s face and fighting and fighting each day,
One needing a ransom;
Friend will you?
Can you pay?
He’s still quietly wiping, quickly wiping tears away,
Those seeping down gently behind his glasses that day.