The preacher

The Preacher
He had always been there on that meek city street corner.
His clothes tattered and torn, his face dirty, un shaved as he
sent a prayer to all he saw pass his corner.
In a big city most ignore him, telling themselves that he is
another unfortunate soul left to wonder the cold streets.
Few stop and hand him money, even fewer stop and listen to his messages.
He tells them all of the glorious sight of heavens golden streets, mansions and the
saviors face. How there will be no more pain no more death,
When asked why he preaches here he simply says “ it's my calling “
They offer to get him a job to help him off these streets,
he just tells them “ son you see a poor man, in heaven I will be rich,
my lord takes care of me. While I bring more lambs to his gates of glory.
While you see a poor dirty man, inside I have riches “
his name is never in the record books, but it was his
mark on this earth for he died on the street corner where he told of god's
glory...... .... ....
where the father called the preacher home.... ... ...