Contentment's Glove 7-18-06

We thirst for it. We grab for it - contentment's out of reach.
We think of it. We dream of it - that perfect sweetest peach.
Some beg for it. Some steal for it. Sin grows a longer vine.
Some fight for it. Some die for it and tangled they entwine.

Growing anger, hate and madness continues on to seed;
And then with pride so many die, in wars through hate and greed.
I, too, once packed, and walked away. I took my tiny tent;
As a lady, so deep depressed, I just was not content.

I saw this girl. She hugged a glove. She wore it on one hand;
She seemed to be enjoying it. I couldn't comprehend.
From where I stood, She looked a mess, with mud caked on her face;
She smiled big from ear to ear. How'd I come by this place?

I raised my nose and pursed my lips, ignored her every call.
But then she ran - caught up to me, and stopped along a wall.
To be polite, I said to her, "Your glove had caught my eye."
She tugged at me, then said with glee, "Please tell my dolly 'hi'."

And then my thoughts turned negative, as she grinned ear to ear;
She's so happy. I'm so depressed. Does this girl not know fear?
So then I said, "If that was mine, I wouldn't be so proud.
I'd hide it good - or throw it out - not show it to a crowd."

"Why, she's my friend, my 'pretend' doll. I like to keep her near.
And if you want, I'll share with you, go on and hold her - here."
She held it out in trusting love. I knew not what to say;

Then I found out she had her trials, and seen her parents death;
She lived alone without a home, and that had seized my breath.
She clung to me - gave me a hug, it had to be pure love;
Was all she had, and then again, held out that special glove.

Then my focus fell off of me, I’d surely lost my case;
In tailored clothes with makeup on, I lost my perfect face.
I have so much - her so little, she hugged me as I tried;
To hold the flood of many tears, but I broke down and cried.

I spent the day with my new friend, contented as a pearl;
And as we walked, She gave her 'doll' to yet another girl.
There is nothing, more special than, to be a real glove;
Once I had less than this small child - of pure, unselfish love.

Greed and envy, hate and anger, will see no Nation through;
It's who you are and what you do - results are up to you.
You have to be that unique doll, that special one to love;
A tailored suit cannot replace, or be contentment's glove.

©2006 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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