In what valley have you emptied your bowel
That bowel from which rises hope on a dead day
Which births kindness on a cruel Christmas morn
Which dissipates skeletons of terror
That now sends that needy child fleeing from you
And deserting his desires to seek your compassion?
Do you forget how often the rain falls?
Never putting a barricade on the houses of foes
Never recalling who reeks of hate
Never muttering about friend or stranger
Just obeying nature’s call to flourish in its flow
Why then does your bowel segregate objects?