One
Spring,
Crossing
Sixth
Avenue
At
Fifty
Seventh
Street,
A
Tattered
Man
Approached
Me
In
The
Crowded
Space,
And
Shouted
Into
My
Face,
“How
Does
It
Feel
To
Be
God’s
Fool?”
I Stayed
Cool
And
Walked
On,
But
I Remember
His
Angry,
Determined
Pace,
And
That
Time
And
Place,
His
Voice
Ringing
Out
In
A
Harsh
Chime.
I Escaped,
And
Now
I’ve
Put
Him
Safely
Away
In
A
Rhyme.
Spring,
Crossing
Sixth
Avenue
At
Fifty
Seventh
Street,
A
Tattered
Man
Approached
Me
In
The
Crowded
Space,
And
Shouted
Into
My
Face,
“How
Does
It
Feel
To
Be
God’s
Fool?”
I Stayed
Cool
And
Walked
On,
But
I Remember
His
Angry,
Determined
Pace,
And
That
Time
And
Place,
His
Voice
Ringing
Out
In
A
Harsh
Chime.
I Escaped,
And
Now
I’ve
Put
Him
Safely
Away
In
A
Rhyme.
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