A Calling

In the hidden, broken places therein reside

Those whom society has cast aside.

Overlooked, a festering wound forms gangrene.

Instead of healing the hurt,

We swath it in our own soiled rags

So that the ugliness remains unseen.

Money is not enough to pay the medical expense.

We need to desert our manicured lawns

For the sake of helping those who suffer

On the other side of the fence.

An ointment applied with most gentle of care

Not to prove anything for one's own advance.

Life cannot by luxury itself repair,

Only by a humble servant's burdened stance

And a healing balm infused with love we tend.

How can life let these beautiful souls

Tarnish from our refusal of a hand to extend?

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