There is a baby here resting in his mother's arms as she stands in a long line
Of people waiting to be fed.  The mother looks like a child herself;
The burden of the baby seems too much for her-but she knows he is not
As she sways and nuzzles
Him for comfort in a place full of strangers.
He looks at me, an old man in the corner smiling at him, and
Wishing for things long gone and time spent foolishly

Then he turns away to the comfort of his mother's powerful arms,
Safe for now in a moment fading quickly to a time when he
May be an old man in a corner wishing.