The Old Man

Once to a land of plenty,

Came an old man aged seventy.

Tattered clothes, matted hair,

Unkempt beard, unblinking stare,

He stood at the gates of the city,

That old man aged seventy.

The guards stopped him midway,

No place for beggars, go away.

They sneered at him and mocked, 

And his way they blocked.

I heard yours is a city of plenty,

Said the old man aged seventy.

You heard it right, now you turn away,

No passage for likes of you anyway.

They were rude and unrelenting,

To his pleas of entering.

I haven't eaten for days, am hungry,

Cried the old man aged seventy.

I say the truth, I am tired and weary,

There isn't a morsel in my belly.

Give me a drop to drink please,

And to eat give me a bread's piece.

That's all I ask, be so kindly,

Begged the old man aged seventy.

Look at you, you are so filthy,

Said they sneering scornfully.

Our city is grand, one of its kind,

You'll spoil it with your dirty stride.

He has pushed away with hostility,

That old man aged seventy.

He fell onto the pebbled path so dusty,

Was a picture of untold misery.

The guards turned their backs to him,

You are unwelcome, they told him.

You will regret this, said he quietly,

That old man aged seventy.

He left, was never seen near the city.

And things began to change slowly.

A strange illness spread,

Leaving many people dead.

Then there was a drought so deadly,

Lasted a span of years seventy.

The streets, grew empty, 

The city turned ghostly.

Unwise rulers, Nature, or just bad luck,

Not sure what caused this wreak.

But many believe it was definitely,

Cursed by that old man aged seventy.