Poetry

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I am not a hero, come home from the war
I am not a saint, who’s never sinned before
I am not the widow, whose love was lost at sea
None of these I claim, for none of these are me
I am not the soldier, who loses friends by day
I am not the housewife, raising kids while he’s away
I am not the child, abandoned and alone
Unlike many orphans, there’s a place that I call home
But God gave me eyes, and with them I can see
Those people so less fortunate, than those like you and me
And with these open ears, such awful sounds I hear
That poor neglected child, trembling with tears
How can we ignore them, the hopeless and in need
We take our lives for granted, in selfishness and greed
I may not be a hero, and I may not be a saint
I may have many things, for which I am ashamed
But inside me is this heart, big enough to share
Bursting with compassion, made with God’s great care
And oh this heart of mine, I know the Lord will use
God lead me to your children, I’ll go anywhere you choose

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