Our Compassion

Forests that burn, limbs will turn:
Their ashes tell their tale.
Charcoal on white, green in sight:
Their ashes tell their tale.

Children do cry, mouths too dry:
Their ashes tell their tale.
With eyes so bright, greed not right:
Their ashes tell their tale.

Branches we mend, seeds to lend:
Their scars tell their tale.
Beauty from dust, green or rust:
Their scars tell their tale.

Hunger in need, tales we read:
Their scars tell their tale.
Smiles no more, open the door:
Their scars tell their tale.

Suff’ring all ’round, Christ is sound:
Compassion is our tale.
Fears subdued, joys renewed:
Compassion is our tale.

[This poem was written as a class assignment several years ago as a response a friend’s art exhibit.]

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