at a street corner squats a beggar. he is always there, under the tree, in the shade. senile as he is, he crouches in some ragged pieces of cloth. he is there, always there, like a sculpture in the street. day after day, thousands of people pass in front of him hurriedly. some spare coins, most give a quick glance in disgust. however, it shocks me very much. what a miserable life a human being can bear!
at the first sight, you will be appalled that god has created such an emaciated creature. his dark face is full of wrinkles, deep or shallow. they remind people of the hardship the beggar has experienced. his cheeks are bony while his neck is so thin. his hair is bedraggled like a nest, a nest with a coat of oil. what an impressive sculpture it is! most of the time, his mouth speaks while his eyes are half closed. but once a pedes trian passes by, he will keep nodding his head slightly and auto matically as if a gust of wind had forced him to do so. at the same time, he raises his gnarled right hand from the ground,murmuring to beg. what a hand! it is a seamy, shriveled hand. the wrinkles in his skin are stretching, twisting and in tersecting. dirt fills the grooves. in front of him lies an dilapidated bowl with only a few coins in it. believe it or not, it is more and more difficult to make a living by begging. beside him, there is a stick as slim as his legs as if the third leg of the poor old beggar.
the sun is shining in the sky, but it doesn't shine every corner of the world. there are still people who are not bathed in the sunshine. the beggar is just one of them.