The Begging Bowl

If we willingly give, it ends buying and stealing

This naked body has learned the art of wheeling and dealing

We are shy to the bare truth

Our ornaments will remain, not the body, as the fountain of youth

Begging bowls of mud or gold

They all come from the same mold

Each takes one, perhaps two

Who’s the giver? When all have stepped into a beggar’s shoe

We have come to steal hearts, that isn’t a crime

But we lose ours, well before it is time

Even trees feed strangers their fruits

While its own seeds are sent far away to seek separate roots

It’s time for us to return

The layers of clothing, and unlearn

When the mind finally returns to the fold

No one will be left behind, out in the cold