JUDGMENT HAS A FACE

From behind a door, walking down a street, who are they?

They wander around, they look without a friendly sound.

With paper and pen, not a friend as they may smile but pretend,

Watched you are as you walk, speak, examined over a way you dress.

Judge me with your thoughts, but what is there to see in you?

I am judged by those whom I never see again, strangers, and some family.

Judgment has a face, not the same as it changes from day to day,

We are judged by the rotation of our world, traveling with the wind.

                                            Keith Garrett