Especially The Angels Three (Poverty) Poem by A. P. Hancock

Dedicated to All the Poor Children of the World

I saw my old friend Cal today, in the Thanksgiving turkey line.
A mother with three angels by her side, their ages four to nine.
They’d been in town a day or two, staying at the Friendship place.
She was at the end of rope and wit, I could see it on her face.

Of all the Cals in line that day, they seemed to catch my eye.
I wondered as I served them all, just how their well had run dry.
I found that there was a man of sorts, who’d left them far behind.
I wondered how he could hurt them so, and scar their tender minds?

I found myself with an angry heart, as I served the rest their plates
I couldn’t help but think of the future, and the angels’ coming fates.
What would they grow to be one day, with a start like the one they’d had?
What would I say to a man of abandon, a man they knew as Dad?

I’d tell him things I’ve never said, things I’d never want to repeat.
I’d scream and cry and yell and fuss, I’d even want to beat.
For no one deserves to be left like that, with nothing but bended knee
We all need to know that we’re worth some care, especially the angels three.