Stitched into my brain
Is the sordid patchwork
Of sights seen, outlined in sackcloth;
Homeless children dousing their legs
In muddy rain-pools of Calcutta;
Dull eyes--in famished faces
Pear from dowdy junks on the Mekong
Bloated bellies slow-pace Recipe;
Small feet falter; eyes close with finality.
Pasty-skinned tots in tatters
Scramble for pennies on Mexican flagstones.
Italian boys bolt around street corners,
Snatched break in tiny fists.
A child's cry fades into unresponsive space.
Tears flow over ridges of cheekbones,
Fall as dew in the night.

Florence Wiener

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/montage-of-the-innocents/