Enigma

He lay there on the sidewalk

dirty, disheveled and cold.

He smelled of filth and cheap wine,

his clothing was ragged and old.

Repulsed, I walked on by,

my abhorrence barely controlled.

I put him out of my mind

'til my dreams began to unfold,

I saw a beautiful baby boy

with lustrous ringlets of gold,

nestled in his mother's arms,

her face, a sight to behold.

She waxed ecstatic as her

blessed child she extolled.

She lovingly spoke of his future

in a voice emphatic and bold.

A Doctor, Lawyer or President,

in the very best clubs enrolled.

The dream changed, and once again

I saw the sidewalk where he lolled,

huddled in his own filth,

midst rubbish and leafy mold.

And I wondered, what had happened

to the babe with hair of gold?

How had he ended up on this sidewalk

with no shelter from the cold?

And what of the proud young mother,

and the future she foretold?

Is life the ultimate marketplace

where dreams are bought and sold?