Saps and Craps
He was standing on the corner,
His shoulders slightly bent,
His hat was badly battered
And his clothes were torn and rent;
It was on a Sabbath morning,
The day was bright and fair,
The churchbells softly ringing,
Calling folks to prayer.
A group came slowly strolling
Beneath the shady trees,
The fellow ambled forward
And dropped upon his knees.
"Good folks," he mumbled hoarsely,
"Could you spare a man a mite,
To buy myself some coffee
And perhaps a little bite?"
