Clouds Slowly sauntering down the street A little boy with his little hat, His little hands, and his little feet Gazes wide-eyed at his surroundings. A bald black man with a gray beard Lies lazily on the icy ground, Waiting for a charitable being To add a coin to his cup of life. Hearing the rare chink of change The bald man opens his eyes, Seeing a little boy, finger in mouth, Smiling the innocent smile of a child. Two strangers play the game of life, One the giver of change, The other the giver of gratitude. Unaware, the clouds pass overhead. Jeremy Andrew Miller