How quick we are to counsel,

How slow to pray and intercede;

How soon the child compassion dies

When the monster pride we feed.


Outside ourselves we have our favorites,

Inside those that we dare disdain;

The entertainment of our selfish tongue,

The plea of some poor other’s pain.


Oh, for a heart that longs to listen,

Oh, for a mouth that loathes to speak,

Oh, for a thousand poems I never write,

Oh, for just one lost soul reached.


  • Written by Abel Prudhomme, 10/11/2016

One thought on “Imagio

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