The Beggar

Here's a real old one I found in one of my old mails. Think I wrote this during school days, here goes..

I’ve seen many a time, a beggar.
He sits under the old oak you know,
Just down the street.
He sits there with his hands spread
Crying out just, just a rupee for today’s bread.
He is pitiable.
I wonder why he took to begging.
He is not disabled, that much I know
And his handicap, it never does show.
Was it joblessness? I asked.
But to this he just smiled.
My attempts to know him were futile,
And he’s been there all this while.
I’ve known him for ten years now
And till today I wonder, why?
But my questions get lost in his smile.