Their Trash, Their Treasure

Trash for a world,

Treasure for another

I stand by the street

As a silent observer

Filled with the unwanted,

Tossed in with disgust

Rifled for the needed

A boon to the cursed

Tiny hands look in me

Eyes glitter with joy

Sometimes a morsel

Or a broken toy

A toy with a story

A book old and torn

Of past full of glory

Yet those tiny hands hold them

And make them their own

A trashcan you say

As you walk away

Yet I see two worlds

Every single day