Crickle, crackle, slap, slap, slap,
An old man dressed in a newspaper suit and cap
Struggled and danced down the street,
Prancing and limping to avoid the heat.
His feet were bare,
But he didn’t seem to care.
His white, wispy hair
Blew in the breeze
And the wind rattled the paper
around his knees.
He walked up to City Hall.
Where he lifted up his head and began to call,
“Brother, can you spare a Good Samaritan? ”
The mayor busy with his papers, put down his pen
and groaned, 'Is that, that old fool again? '
A woman tried to hand the old man some money,
But he only said, “I don’t want it now, honey.
They arrested a man because he fed the homeless,
Didn’t want us in their new park, I guess.
He was going to give me clothes, so I could dress,
And he thought a pair of shoes, too, would be best.
So to beg the mayor is my quest.”
Again he called up to City Hall,
“Brother, can you spare a Good Samaritan? ”
His feet were bare
But he didn’t seem to care.
His white wispy hair blew in the breeze,
And the wind rattled the paper
around his knees.
Mary Naylor
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-paper-man/
