Yoked With Grace
The meek move,
stepping soft,
but sure,
between
mothers’ sighs
and silent prayers.
In hospital rooms,
nurses abide—
holding anxious hands
pulsing with pain.
Behind shelter doors,
some stir broth—
thick with potatoes,
peas, pork.
Serving warm hope
to a cold world
one bowl
at a time.
In timeworn classrooms,
they blink
at pages
words tangled
like cables.
Teachers kneel
beside them.
“Try again,” they whisper.
Serving small
words of service.
The meek move—
unseen by eyes
that seek the proud.
They walk.
They serve.
They love.
And one day—
they shall inherit
the earth.
