This is my body naked before you, hungry and sore, dirty and cold; this is my body, here at your doorstep, needing the gift you can give. These are my children, street-wise and frightened, looking for life, dealing in death; born of my breathing, banding together, needing the gift you can give. You are my body, born of my breathing; you are my hands, wrinkled or smooth; as you are living, learn to be loving, give me the best that you have.