A beggar’s bowl

In the corner of a crowded street,
Where hurried footsteps pass,
A beggar holds a little bowl,
Beside the broken glass.

The bowl is old, the hands are weak,
The eyes have stories deep,
Of dreams that faded long ago,
And nights without much sleep.

A coin may fall with little sound,
A stranger may walk by,
But in that bowl there lives a hope
That never dares to die.

It holds not only bits of gold,
Or crumbs of daily bread,
It carries silent prayers and tears,
And words that were never said.

The world may see an empty bowl,
A symbol of despair,
But kindness fills its hidden space
With love beyond compare.

So when you see that beggar’s bowl,
Do not just look away,
A little warmth, a little care,
Can brighten someone’s day.