A Quarter
The streets are all crowded,
With everyone in a rush.
People pushing and shoving
,
Too noisy to hear the hush.
Of the silent eyes upon
them,
In clothes all tattered
and torn.
Begging you for a quarter,
On this cold September morn.
They may want a coffee,
Or a warm breakfast to fill
inside.
As you're rushing to work.
Your judgment you can't
hide.
Yet you give money every
month,
To a child you don't even
know.
The woman you passed on
the street,
May have a child of two
at home.
Before you pass your next
judgment,
On only what you see.
Remember your kindness cost
you
a quarter.
Is that not the way to be?
J.D. Chambers © 1995
Published in The National Library
of Poetry 1996
