What sort of spirit blesses humankind
with sights of splendid beauty every day,
while understanding most will pay no mind;
their eyes fixated on survival's way?

What gentle goodness graces humankind
as we build monolithic concrete wrongs?
In unused space, trees, birds come, unassigned,
forgiving us with nature's quiet songs.

What kind of kindness cradles humankind
in spite of spiteful evils that we do
each other; sends us beings more refined
than we, the saints unsung just passing through?

The sort of spirit, goodness, love dispersed
when poems are cast upon the universe.