Just One

Just One
by John Trent

She sits on the sidewalk,
Her head on dirty grey bricks
With a weathered face,
For her untimely years
Unkempt hair,
Clothes tattered,
Soiled……..
No beds at the mission,
So she sleeps in the cold

Our thoughts pass her by
We ignore her crusted tears,
We ignore her lost spirit,
And wandering soul
We ignore the small bowl
With only a few coins
We judge her as less human,
Because she begs for more

Willingly, our eyes shift away,
From her desperate face
She pleads for help,
Trying to catch our distant stare
But we keep walking and ignore her pain
Our hearts are calloused,
And our souls have grown cold

Except one,
A young boy approaches,
So pure of heart
With his day’s lunch
In his tiny hands
Crouching,
He makes his meager offering
And her spirit renewed,
By a handful of hope