By Jacob Gray
You fill your empty garden pail
Littered with cracks.
Water seeps through your will
As you water the plants.
Teardrops of pity find the ground
Like glass breaking
The sight is less painful than the sound,
Hands covering the face, shaking.
I get on my knees
Wetting my cupped hands in broken glass,
The pail will not make it to the trees
Water spilling on grass.
In the struggle I look down to see:
Wilting stems springing back from the dead,
And life abundant sprouting up to me.
Wonder takes pity’s stead.