While walking down a dusty road, One day I chanced to see
An old, bedraggled, dirty man—it was very plain to me
That he was just a no-account, worthless as he could be.
His clothes were wrinkled, soiled and old,
his shoes were badly worn.
His trousers sagged, draped like a bag
and the shirt on his back was torn.
His hands seemed a couple of sizes too large—
’till he bent, without a word
As he straightened, I saw in his hands,
a tiny, baby bird.
Gently, tenderly he put it up in the nest.
The tears in my eyes sort of burned.
For how could he know—this lonely old man
The lesson I had learned.