The Beggar

The strangest patchwork you wear
Ragged tramp as you trudge.
Furtive to discover, a garment,
that you never had when you slept
in the frozen night; till
you stopped shivering, and the cold
of the blizzard mattered no more.
You are warm now, with the sun,
Yet you still search,
to steel yourself,
from the fear of the cold;
And clothes after clothes you stuff
in the black bag you drag
You seek content from your fears
But you can become a beggar not
Till there is room in yourself
For the spirit to breeze through.