Don't We All ... Can't We All
I was at the barrel bottom, it was either swim or drown,
Down an out, no job, no food, no hope and a stranger in the town.
I had made my bed of thorns, I blame no one for my distress,
And in my poor and stupid attitude I reckoned that no one could care less.
I sat dejected, down hearted, angry, feeling sorrow for my life's fate,
And through the depth of my moroseness, my sad and sorry state,
I heard the voice of someone close, a man I did not know who said:
“What's your trouble son? What are your needs?” as if my mind he'd read.
“I need help”, and I looked to see who had joined me on my misery seat.
I saw an older man and I heard the words that from his lips did speak.
I could see that he had been a worker, I could see he once stood tall,
And I felt the sound of his sorrow as he said “Mate, don't we all.”
I felt the need to let him speak for my cares seemed less somehow.
He told of the things that he'd lost, how fortune had often laid him low;
Of how he'd nursed and cared for his one true love, his own 'darlin' wife',
But she had gone, and she cried for leaving him alone in his remaining life.
And as he spoke he pointed to a woman passing by, a child in a pram,
“Look there my son, her babe is ill, and that poor lady, she has no man,”
He raised his hand in salute, and the woman returned his friendly call.
“This lad needs help” he told her and in answer she replied “Don't we all.”
“I see you have no boots, and I reckon you feel you are at life's dregs,
But have you thought of those out there, the ones that have no legs?”
I knew his words were true, I knew I'd turned the lamp out on myself,
And here I was a'wailing, a man still strong in perfect working health.
I rose from the seat of misery and I shook the man's rough hand,
And I started on the work to get myself back on to some dry land.
I knew it was in me, and feeling sorry was just a place for me to fall.
Yes, I had found some help this day, and really ... can't we all?
Note: A poem on an old adage theme.