At the Door

A dirty, sunken face distraught
Peered hungrily through window pane
And wondered if he might remain
And taste the food he’d so long sought.
The king’s degree his only thought,
He could not fathom he’d ordain
A drunken beggar to pertain
To that assembly he had bought.
Fears flooding up within his heart,
Sweat beading on his quivering brow,
The man could neither stay, depart,
Despite the king’s most solemn vow.
Might he to one so mean impart
Such life and with it hope endow?

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