Dirty-faced Angels, by Phil Cerasoli
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So I'm somewhere south of Nowhere in this tired Texas town;
In a seedy all-night diner while I'm guzzling coffee down.
And it's me and just the waitress who pretend we're each not
there,
As we share the pre-dawn silence with a sleepy, glassy
stare.
And then this old drunk wanders in and staggers to my side
And I look up from my coffee at this man who's lost his
pride.
He asks me for a buck or two so he can finally eat.
I shrug and tell the man to sit; that breakfast is my
treat.
And while he waits upon the stool for eggs and toast and
ham,
He says to me in slurring speech, "I'll tell you who I am.
I'm Jesus Christ, the Son of God, who's risen once again;
And I am here to wash away the sins of mortal men."
Then the waitress brings his breakfast and the man attacks
the food,
And I guess that he's so hungry that he's lost his zealous
mood.
Then, halfway through his breakfast, he nods in drunken
sleep;
And the waitress frowns disgustedly at the company I keep.
It's then this thought pops in my head and I wonder if God's
plan
Is to send down bands of angels disguised as dregs of Man
To see how we respond to them and how we treat their
plight;
To see if we can help them through another lonely night.
That may not be His plan at all; but ever since that day
I've tried to give respect to all the ones who pass my way;
I give each one their dignity and try to judge them not
Nor chide them for their failures or goals they should have
sought.
And it's made a better man of me, for whatever that is
worth;
And it's helped me have a common bond with all who walk this
earth.
So if I had to pick a point in time that changed my life
And helped me make some sense of all this universal strife,
It would be that night I saw this drunk and laid my money
down
And bought some food for Jesus in that tired Texas town.
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Posted: 2008-06-14 02:15:15 UTC |
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