Dirty Faces
I look out at them,
Trying not to stare.
Wondering what their stories are,
How they came to be there.
Some look gruff and mean,
While others timid and nice.
All are mostly civil,
Ignoring each others stench and lice.
They are all ages,
Many sizes and skin colors too.
Each one waiting their turn,
To step up in the queue.
And as I serve them their food,
I come to realize as I hand them a bowl.
While they may have dirty faces,
Many of them have a golden soul.