I don’t feel like

writing poetry

this morning.

My wife is ill;

It’s like 

I am too.

I don’t like it 

but this is the way

it should be.

Every pain ofour

fellow human being

Should be ours.

The cynic says, But

I’m separate; Why 

should I have her pain?

It’s not that I get

sick,It’s that my

heart understands her pain.

And with this open 

heart I am able to 

receive help and grace.

Without it,I am closed off;

My garden is covered with plastic

And the plants can’t grow.