Bad to the Bone

His beard cascades like snowfall white,
But this ain't no saint lost in the night,
For in his eyes, the stories you'll find,
Of highways traveled, left no road behind.

Beneath the surface of toughened skin,
Beats a heart unyielding, a heart of kin,
For sick and troubled children's sake,
His hard-earned coin, a difference he'll make.

In the shadows, he gives a hand,
A modern-day hero in a timeless land,
With rough-hewn hands and a soul laid bare,
He whispers hope into the night air.

The Chicano Santa, bad to the bone,
A tender heart hewn from rough stone,
Over hot coffee, I glimpse his soul,
A beacon of light, making broken hearts whole.