Kindness, akin to love,
we adore it, yet we gossip:

he bathes in the swamp
of cynicism, eager to follow
the stream of somber euphemism.
He’d scorn, ranting in return,

but inside him is a wounded rabbit
limping across the pasture,
searching for love, would walk on
a gossamer to get an assurance
that he’ll shine. While we
would help a lost child,

strangers in need, and so forth
we tend to look away from the
emotionally missing souls,
hoping they’ll wake up,
embrace gentle flow.

© Byung A. Fallgren