Guilty charity

I once met a man, on a cold winters day,
his skin was like leather and hair as cut hay.
His eyes betrayed his attempt at good grace,
a life long turmoil, etched deep on his face.
He recanted a story, of such earlier promise,
which ended in the demise, of this likable florist.
A good business, a loving wife and children too,
all he could want, for his dreams had come true.
The story he warned me, hit me hard to my heart,
for a drive returning home, was where it did start.
So tired from a day, way too long for any man,
his eyes were as lead, he never saw that old pram.
As he woke, a realisation, he wasn't tucked up in bed,
slamming that peddle, he already knew she'd be dead.
Her face he still sees, as she flew past his car,
tattooed to his mind, never leaving him too far.
That crash left this man, both broken and afraid,
the sound of that scream, would follow him to his grave.
A few coins I handed him and an excuse I must flee,
but through the grace of god,that man could be we...