Like a set of graded kitchen pans
the newsagent's children,
back from school, file into the tiny corner shop,
and all so small, this neat, obedient, clean set,
that no-one needed lift the counter flap.
And in a moment's flash of truth, or sentiment,
I saw the beauty of the human race.
Michael Shepherd
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/0335-indian-file/
