Legs crossed, back straight, dignified,
On its shipping carton,
He sits on his throne.
Nearby, carefree,
High school girls are joking
At table at a terrace, not far away, a woman is smoking.
Tinkling of a carelessly discarded piece.
Groping, the old man picks
And into his box, puts it.
Beside him, a sign,
"I am blind, please help".
Sometimes a painful tension on his face,
Eyelids beating on bruised eyes.
Suddenly, as if on the alert, he turns his head.
Stylish, a woman passes
Contemplates the scene
Retraces her steps,
Grabs the grimoire,
Determined, throws a few words.
The Elderly bends downwards
Feels the shoes
To identify.
When finished writing,
The Beauty, carefully, coarse paper
Replaces.
Last look, last smile,
She walks away.
Suddenly the world has changed,
A girl kneels down,
Presents a coin.
And another
And again another.
Genuflexions ...
Comes back the unknown Lady
In front of him, she stops.
Intrigued, he leans,
Caresses the shoes,
Remembers.
“-What have you done?
- I wrote the same thing but with different words. "
With empathy she touches his shoulder,
Smiles
And walks away.
On the sign, it says:
"It's a beautiful day
And I can't see it ... "
G.B.