Issue 4, January 2008

I am the blind man you pass on the street
Selling my papers for something to eat;
I am the beggar who knocks on your door
Pleading a morsel or crumb—nothing more.

I am the hitchhiker shivering, cold,
Thumbing a ride with cumbersome load;
I am the widow whose loneliness cries
To have happy laughter to draw out my sighs.

I am the cripple whose arthritic hand
Reaches to touch you. Can you understand?
I am the infant whose parents have fled,
Caring not whether I’m living or dead.

I am the homeless, rejected and poor;
Hear with your heart my lonely adjure;
Lend me your comfort, share your kind smile,
Just please,
Linger a moment or chat for a while.