The Beggar Poem

Where is the beggar that frequents this place?
I’ve searched high and low but can’t see his face.
I have here some cash to give to that man
So I really must find him if I can.
Yesterday he asked, could I spare a dime?
I shrugged and moved on; said I had no time.
I’ve thought long and hard, and I have been cruel,
And so today I will become God’s tool.
Ten dollars I have, to help that poor guy
And that’s why, you see, I really must try
To find him right now. Can you tell me how?

So sorry, my friend, but you are too late.
Such are the twistings and turnings of fate:
Poor Joe starved to death at twenty past eight.