The Drifter And The Cross

His clothes were filthy rags; his hair was long an unkempt mess.

He was walking South on highway 25 as the sun sighed softly in the west.

Cars and trucks whizzed and groaned down the road at break neck speed.

The drifter never looked up for he knew the world was oblivious to his need.

Swish and I too was gone; caught haplessly in the din of the evening rush.

I passed mile marker 33 and then 34; the drifter now a faded thought in my minds hush.

Two miles passed; one remarkable chance and there up ahead was he again.

No way, no, there is no way, but there he was; a small shaggy dot just at the bend.

With a mirrors glance and a wary heart I saw the emergency lane secure up ahead.

I struck on my signal and slowed to a stop; I rolled down my window and then said.

“Where are you heading young fellow and may I offer you a ride”?

He kicked at some gravel stirring the dust; he smiled softly and looked me in the eye.

“Heading south sir” he did exclaim…winters too cold up north…too much pain.”

I swung open my door far and wide; I said a little prayer told him to get in.

He smelled sour in a brackish sort of way; he spoke little as the sunlight began to fade.

Twenty miles give or take, we rode in silence on the now dark and chilly road.

He then reached in his coat pocket, fumbled and felt and then produced a shiny object made of gold.

A wave of relief swept over my pounding heart for it wasn’t a knife or a gun.

He softly smiled and handed me a golden cross and gently said, “God Bless You Sir in the name of the Father, The Son, and The Holy Ghost.”

I looked back at the road ahead and saw fire truck, police and flashing lights.

A terrible wreck had occurred on this a most busy Christmas shopping night.

I slowed down to come to a halt and looked back over to the drifter to explain. But…but he was gone…No way, I thought, no way.

Two minutes sooner and the crash ahead would have been me.

Stopping for a smelly drifter somehow this night made my peace.

The golden cross now clasped in my hand; his reverent soft spoken tone.

Something’s are just not meant to understand…

J. Allen Wilson © 12-2007

“And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me”