when
in that hedgerow
woven tight with the
vines of despair,
the thorns of loss
pricking at us,
we find no ram
caught by its horns;
when
we cling desperately to
each other as our
child is wheeled
towards the surgery,
where her life is placed
in the hands of strangers,
and no angel comes
running down the hall, yelling
'wait!'
when
we have mailed the letter
to that old friend whose
heart our anger broke
all those years ago,
but no word of pardon comes;
when
the doctor comes into
our room, but the words
uttered are not
"it's benign";
when
there is no last minute
reprieve
in the sentence of
loneliness
which has been pronounced
upon us;
when,
do we forgive
you?
(c) 2011 Thom M. Shuman
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
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