The following poem appeared in our local newspaper, written by someone who frequents the community soup kitchen where my husband and I volunteer on occasion. The writer very vividly describes what takes place during the several hours that diners come to partake of a home-cooked meal. They always express their gratitude before taking their leave. But it was special that one of them could share his feelings in words thoughtfully composed.

THE FIRE HALL KITCHEN
By Albert Perron

The kitchen, by the fire hall,
Feeds the poor, feeds them all,
The price is right, yes it’s free,
Sometimes I dine, just to see,
What food delight, will show today,
You must eat fast, then go away,
The regular crowd, is always there,
Each glued to, their special chair.
If church groups fail, to show on time,
To this crowd, well, that’s a crime.
When they chow, they eat with glee,
I do too, why not, it’s free,
It says to thank, those who give,
They feed your face, so you can live,
So to the church folk, who drop by,
Thanks! Without your food, we’d die.

…to give…is to receive…is to give…is to receive…and that should be the way of the world…

………hugmamma.