I saw an old dishevelled man
Who was begging upon the street.
He was huddled within an empty shop doorway,
Where he tried to shelter from the cold.
He held an empty bottle of spirit
Within his shaking hand.
As I was passing by I asked him,
'Have you no respect Sir? '
He slowly lifted his head
And stared into my eyes.
I could tell that he had suffered
So much during his lifetime.
He then replied in a weak and frail voice,
'Respect is like love young man,
For it is so hard to win
And so easily lost.'
I nodded in agreement
And went upon my way.
ANDREW BLAKEMORE
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/respect-46/
