To The Wanderer, A Charge

Will you gather hearts in your hands?

Frayed edges unraveling,

You slip on your white gloves,

Slide the thread through the needle,

And begin to stitch,

Delicately.

In the creases and the tears,

Compassion.

Gloves stained a vivid red

You pause,

Then continue to sew,

One stitch after another,

Gently.

For there’s work to be done

And tattered pieces do not fix themselves.