Passing By

I absorb the grungy city scene—

The smoke, the smog, the cracks between

The bricks on buildings. And the weeds

That droop with dust and shriveled seeds.

The vagrants sprawl at intervals,

On broken steps, in vestibules.

Grimy hands reach out in plea

I turn my head. I do not see.

The Whisper brings me to my knees—

How have I loved the least of these?