While traveling in a foreign land,
Still Bound by apartheid,
I booked a tour upon a bus,
To see the countryside.
The driver stopped at interest points,
And let us browse each town --
In one quaint place with cobbled streets,
I stumbled, slipped down.
A Blackman, passing, helped me up -
I thanked him, shook his hand,
And gave him change for aiding me -
A stranger in his land.
He smiled a shy, engaging grin,
They humbly bowed his head -
"Bless you, my children eat tonight,"
The grateful Blackman said.
Upon returning to the bus,
The driver gave a sneer -
I saw what you just did out there;
We don't do such things here"
Mid hostile stares, I took my seat,
And sat there church-mouse quiet,
But my heart held the happy thought -
His children ate that night.
Ann Matthews Moorhead
1989 A book of the Year - The poetry Society of Texas
