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They sit at benches;
Small legs swing above
Green industrial tile.

They sit at benches;
Thin arms cross around
Frail, frightened bodies.

They sit at benches;
Lips thinned upon
Tightly clenched teeth.

They sit at benches;
Down-cast eyes inside
Sunken, hollow faces.

They sit at benches;
Tiny fists clutch at
The narrow rail.

They sit at benches;
Pale chins duck into
Quivering throats.

They do not look up
As I enter the room,
They do not dare
To hope.

They do not smile
When I say ‘hello’,
They do not dare
To care.

They do not answer
When I ask their name,
They do not dare
To speak.

These children,
Belonging to no one,
Sit at benches
In defeated postures
Waiting for fate
To deliver them onward.


$25,000 would not rescue these children.  Perhaps, used wisely, it would feed them or 
clothe them in some small measure.  But their need is truly far greater than anything 
money could provide.  These are the lost children.  They are my children and your 
children; yet they are no one’s children.  They wait for foster homes, for court orders 
sending them back to abusive homes and fighting parents.  They wait for the bus to take 
them back to state funded orphanages.  They wait for the well-meaning social worker to 
tell them their mother is not coming for them today.  They wait for the well-meaning 
social worker to tell them their mother will never come again.  They wait for the sound of 
the door shutting, the lock turning, and the silence.  These are the lost children.  Perhaps 
I could sponsor a contest awarding $25,000 to the person who came up with a solution to 
care for the 150 million children who are homeless today.  Children who are called 
‘community children’ by the United Nations, who gives us the latest information on their 
numbers. 150 million lost children.  What do we do with these children.  These children 
who cry themselves to sleep.  These children who no longer cry because they no longer 
have the tears.  These children who no longer cry because they have given up all hope 
and now simply accept their fate for what it will be.

These children sit at benches.  They sit on street corners.  They sit in burned out 
buildings.  They sit under bridges.  They sit in subway stations.  They sit in condemned 
houses.  They sit in wards, in hospitals, in agencies, in police stations, in jails, in children’s 
homes...

I hand each of these children an equal measure of my allotted $25,000
I hand each of these children their .00017 portion of one penny
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