He Never Did Like Rice

It was warm, so I sat outside, to eat my lunch in the sun
I met a man who'd lost his way, and didn't know anyone
He swallowed his pride, avoided my eyes,
and in a tiny voice, shared with me his plight

My stomach's churnin', feet are burnin', and my heart cries
He nodded his head, self-consciously said, he hadn’t eaten in nights
I offered to share my meal, and without thinking twice
He said thanks, you're awfully nice, but I never did like rice

He looked so sad standing there, I offered him a smile
Tried to show I truly cared, before he walked another mile
I didn't have a penny to spare, but I tried to be nice
Said I had enough to share, but he still didn't like rice

I see him nearly every day, on corners here and there
I still hear him ask, have you a dollar to spare
I always say a little prayer, please help him through the night
Let him know how much I care, even if he won't eat rice

He ages faster than he should, from sleeping on the street
Carries along a stick of wood, to aid his crippled feet
I'd help the man, if I could, his stomach pays the price
no matter how hungry he feels, he simply won’t eat rice

Could be rice was all he had when he was in Hanoi
Could be hunger isn't so bad, compared to life without joy
Or maybe choice matters more when it’s the only thing left in life
So he treasures the freedom - to voice his distaste for rice

Sandy Knauer, © July, 1998