Murdered


*

God pities the kindergarten children,
School children He pities less.
Grownups he pities not at all.
He drops them by the wayside,
And sometimes they have to crawl on all four
In the burning sand
To reach the first aid station,
Sweating blood.

Still,
He may spare some pity for those who love truly
He favours them
And extends His shade over them
Like a tree bows over
The homeless man
That sleeps on the public bench
Perhaps we too can take out
The few talents of charity
Mother left us.
Perhaps their happiness will shield us
Now and alway

(Yehuda Amichai)