Pity

Pity the blind who never see
The crocus pushing through the snow;
Pity the deaf who never know
The low sweet music of a waking stream;
But pity more the hurried ones,
Possessing all their faculties,
Who never stop to dream
Atop a greening hill,
Who never note the blossoms on the trees,
Who never thrill to golden melodies
Born deep within a trembling
Feathered throat….
For they are deaf and blind
And pitiful. indeed,
Knowing a heart’s great need!

SENTINEL OF THE BLESSED SACRAMENT