The Beggar At The Pavement

The gloomy night, with a street, emptied 

With a moon in the sky, though covered by its deputies, clouds

As it sparkled up a glimpse of moonlight,

The bees and bugs too made their moon dance. 

The lights in the street likely were disintegrated 

And a little vision had seen a light, 

Glinting up the man who sat at the pavement

With a partially dead body, shivering out of cold, in the winter dark;

His eyes were red, body too black, too ugly to look at ;

But a kind-hearted ambiance had been inside him

Fighting out of death, his hands were pale, throat was dried;

With his body covered with a brown - old blanket 

Having some stitches.

Pity, my heart was towards him,

Three- a- penny was in my back pocket

Through my pick - pocket's income 

I put my hands on to my pocket and gave it wisely to the beggar;

He shook his head, round 

To indicate that he would not take, 

I unanticipated and desperately asked him why he wouldn't 

A pitch of sad notes thundered inward my soul, 

As he told a group of words ( his last words) 

To me, the one he saw pickpocketing others

That he would not take the pennies until, 

I had earned them ethically. 

He fell back, his cheeks got paler 

And body got a gander of skeleton bones from the skin, 

He closed his breadth and slept forever; he died. 

I carried the body; I wept and cried

I went to the police station, with the dead 

And I confessed myself to them. 

Today, my memory of the beggar came to my mind, 

And I wanna meet him now, even if in the welkin

As I went through a desolated pavement 

At the Long Street in London, changing myself 

Into a perfecting man 

From a pickpocket, 

For the immortal beggar's sacrifice.