I agree with your general idea and I liked your poem, but right last Wednesday, I tryed to bring a box with an untouched pizza and a sandwich to a homeless rasta woman in Milan Central station and it didn’t work out well: she was sitting barefoot with her head on her knees. As soon as I approached her, she just waived her hand at me, quite annoyed, shying away from my interaction and turned her face to the other side. I felt embarrassed. My daughter had warned me to don’t go, but I thought that, probably, that woman would have appreciated my lunch, which I didn’t feel to eat. Instead, she just collected coins: she had carefully lined them up, next to each other, in piles of different values.

And I felt even guilty to have offended her in some ways!