~Forgotten Wings~

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If I Could Mend


I look around the world and see
Such pain and such despair
I want to hide my eyes away;
Yet cannot help but stare,

And yearn with all my soul to fix
The problems that I see--
To find the holes in this old, torn sack
And patch them tenderly.

Instead, I run behind the bag
Which, bouncing down the road,
Rips in new spots with every step
And spills its precious load.

So I throw out my hands to catch
Each small and priceless drop
Before it hits the dusty road.
And, knowing if I stop

Then every bit will hit the path,
Be trodden underfoot,
Can I attempt to shift my hands
To serve the "common good"?

I dream that I might someday turn
The bag to something strong
Or-- almost inconceivable--
Stop its jolting along.

Instead, I keep chasing behind
To give help where I can.
While most will land beneath my feet--
I squeeze some in my hands.


Last updated 27 March, 2003


Intellectual Property Rights denounced by Britt Gordon-McKeon, 2003