John Tucker

Just now I saw a man

his shoulders bent by past

and sad events which can

a drooping life outlast.

My heart, though wrenched, was given pause;

He'd caged his anger and that cage

I felt could rip without good cause:

I feared his stewing seething rage.

Then into wishful reverie my thought

Imagined that the healing hand unborn

Felt into him, to where his soul was caught;

Felt into him, where growing boy was torn,

And touched some vital spring of life.

He filled with supple fluid balm;

Was free from burdens of past strife.

I loved his gentle solid calm.

The unborn hand at last

restores the soul to health.

Hot will lets go of past

in healing love of self.

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