THE CAFETERIA WORKER'S PRAYER

We burned the rolls today, O Lord. The produce came in late.

The freezer’s on the blink again. I guess it must be fate!

There is no air, or breath, or breeze to cool the kitchen heat.

And standing on these concrete floors is murder on my feet.

The pay is not the best, O God. The hours get long and drear,

And when the last lunch bell has rung, it’s music to my ear.

But I would not exchange my place for silver nor for gold.

For here I have the golden chance, a young child’s life to mold.

So when the serving lines get long, and patience gets quite thin,

Then help me smile and show thy love, perhaps some child to win.

And when my days to serve are through, and when my eyes grow dim;

Let it be said, "I served God’s children and, in this, served Him."

--Anonymous