Empathy

I see etched in faces the hurt.
Of long, tragic lives all desert.
The cases, and paces, of sorrow burnt steppes,
The cases of old, wretched, and inept.
Were it to be me, I see.
Perhaps it would not be so different.
Were it to be me, I'd stand in their souls,
best that I could,
cobbling.

Author's Note

Please enjoy.