On Meeting a Beggar Woman

by RebShang

January 2013:

My heart stirs, moves
My hands to aid she
Who begs, who proves
Her lot, her poor degree.

My mind balks, stalls
My hands from giving –
Who knows, recalls
Her wonts, her past living?

My tongue cries, pries
My hands of sloth-preferred,
“Who is your lord? Wise,
Yet severed pair, choose a third –

Grace, grace, be moved by grace.”

 

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