The little old man with the curve in his back <br />And the eyes that are dim and the skin that is slack, <br />So slack that it wrinkles and rolls on his cheeks, <br />With a thin little voice that goes 'crack!' when he speaks, <br />Never goes to the store but that right at his feet <br />Are all of the youngsters who live on the street. <br /> <br />And the little old man in the suit that was black, <br />And once might have perfectly fitted his back, <br />Has a boy's chubby fist in his own wrinkled hand, <br />And together they trudge off to Light-Hearted Land; <br />Some splendid excursions he gives every day <br />To the boys and the girls in his funny old way. <br /> <br />The little old man is as queer as can be; <br />He'd spend all his time with a child on his knee; <br />And the stories he tells I could never repeat, <br />But they're always of good boys and little girls sweet; <br />And the children come home at the end of the day <br />To tell what the little old man had to say. <br /> <br />Once the little old man didn't trudge to the store, <br />And the tap of his cane wasn't heard any more; <br />The children looked eagerly for him each day <br />And wondered why he didn't come out to play <br />Till some of them saw Doctor Brown ring his bell, <br />And they wept when they heard that he might not get well. <br /> <br />But after awhile he got out with his cane, <br />And called all the children around him again; <br />And I think as I see him go trudging along <br />In the center, once more, of his light-hearted throng, <br />That earth has no glory that's greater than this: <br />The little old man whom the children would miss.<br /><br />Edgar Albert Guest<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-little-old-man-2/
