I wonder on the beggars’ lonely art
That shapes the words they hold to face the road;
The studied text selected to impart
The grace implored, the suffering bestowed.
The veteran. The homeless. Unemployed.
The bus fare. Just one ticket for the line.
The cars pass by, the eyes turn to avoid
The eyes that seek them out, the cup, the sign.
I would they did not know the vanity
Of words that paint humanity as one,
The fruitlessness of the deep heart’s soft plea:
I once was someone's child, a mother's son.
I once was someone's child, a mother's son.
