compassion poems

When grim old Mr. Sorrow
unsuspectingly comes to town,
his suitcase filled with pain and grief,
wearing his mournful, heavy frown,

rapping with his leaden stick
on the front door to come in,
then spilling all through house
his pain, sorrow and suffering,

there is no holding him back.
It is futile to bid him leave.
He must come in and the heart
must sorrow, lament or grieve.

Notice though how in thoughtless haste
he leaves the front door open wide
and Hope, Compassion and Empathy
silently and unnoticed come inside,

and sit in patience waiting
for old Sorrow to tire or depart,
so that they can begin to strengthen
the heavily laden, grieving heart,

and when Sorrow will not leave
they still remain quietly in the room,
growing the tender heart in the midst
of suffering’s pain and gloom

and though hearts can surely break
or darkly distort in bitterness,
from pain and loss the heart can develop
its sweet, empathic tenderness

and the heart that is too protected,
wrapped in too cloistered a cocoon,
is a heart denied the opportunity
for beautiful things to blossom and bloom.