

Giving AlmsGiving AlmsGiving Alms
Just before dawn, under prickly stars, the shuffle of slippers is the sound you hear; it is the sound
that wakes the sun.
They are monks
meandering to huts
of straw and earth.
Every morning they return to fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, to ask for alms, food for life.
Their saffron robes flap;
they shiver
cradling black lacquer bowls.
They do not hurry
nor huddle; they embrace suffering like a glowing peach its seed.
You scoop for them
--
La terra ha musica per coloro che ascoltano.
W. Shakespeare
Previous PageNext Page