I can read of you and I feel something.
I even cry when I see you thin and hungry.
I judge you when you hold a sign, when you smell, or look ugly.
I drive by you walking in the rain.
I see you sleeping on the street again.
When I touch you, I want to weep.
When you are locked away and your babies we keep.
I visit your home where you sell yourself away.
I give you groceries and your child a book.
I don't know your life or the abuse you took.
But I can't look away anymore.
I can't leave even with a wide open door.
So what am I to do? You are now really a "You".
I see your face when I pray, when I look at my children.
I see your face again, again and again.
I read of you and I feel something.
I look at you and I see you.
I look at you and I see Jesus.
By Carole Turner