Yearning

Why is it I feel a small but ceaseless kinship with every shopping bag lady, each homeless being, huddled in cardboard boxes, or sprawled in doorways? Stirred by contrast with life as I know it, aware of losses I have never known, something of given respect become-my-own, earned or unearned, I yearn to share. And I wish I could understand better, could set things right, provide them warmth against the icy breeze, divide my food, look deep into their eyes, compassionately, saying, I care,m I care!m - produce some ease: resolve the ache of, Am I more than these?m

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