Classic Poem

Down one of Baghdad's lanes I went,
Met there a man, his back was bent
With age, shuffling along, I saw
Tattered but clean the clothes he wore.

Wide his brow, in the deep furrows
I could see the mark of sorrows
Such as old folk undergo.
On he plodded, very slow.

People cursed him, right and left,
He never answered, but he'd shift
His weight, and pause, and then he'd sigh
To melt your heart with pity. I

Asked who he was and someone said:
" Truth, he has never visited
This town before: a stranger. " So
Not stopping for my tears to flow

I went to him, gave him my arm
To hold him up and fend off harm,
And said: " Stranger, me and you,
We're strangers both, so kinsmen too. "